Children Of Eden
by Knilb17
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. RossRachel. Story Now Complete.
1. Chapter 1: I'll Wait For You

Title: Children Of Eden: I'll Wait For You  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13/R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M  
  
In case it's not clear from the summary, this story is slightly AU. It takes place during Rachel and Monica's junior year in high school and Ross and Chandler's senior year. Phoebe and Joey also go to school with them, but they serve more of a supporting position. For the sake of all of our imaginations, let's just pretend that Monica's already dropped all that weight and Rachel's nose is no longer the size of Connecticut :-)  
  
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"Ugh, Monica, turn this crap off! It's terrible!" Rachel made a face indicative of disgust, getting up from her position on the plush carpet and crossing Monica's room to eject the CD.   
  
"Hey, cut it out! I liked that song!" Ignoring her friend's protest, Rachel reached for the black CD case and scanned it for a disc that was more amicable to dancing. After she found one, she turned up the volume and began dancing around Monica's room. Monica rolled her eyes.   
  
"You're crazy," she insisted, rolling over on her stomach on the bed and reaching for the remote. Rachel refused to be called crazy, though, bobbing over to her friend and taking her by the hands, forcing her to stand up and dance with her. Monica resisted, playfully swatting her friend with a pillow. After a few more moments, Rachel turned the CD player off completely and joined her friend on the bed.   
  
"So, do you think my parents suspect yet that you're just coming over here to have sex with Ross after I'm asleep?" Monica teased, smiling widely. Rachel rolled her eyes, but was obviously a little offended.   
  
"Shut up, you know that's not how it is. I was friends with you before I even met Ross." Monica nodded.   
  
"I know, I know. I was just messing with you." Rachel had been dating her brother for almost 6 months, now. At first, it had made Monica somewhat uncomfortable. The idea of her brother and her best friend making out in the room next to hers was more than she was able to stomach, but she got accustomed to it after a while. Besides, she knew how happy they made each other.   
  
They girls were having one of their patented "girls night". They got into their pajamas around 7 o'clock and then watched movies, listened to music and snuck some of Jack and Judy's alcohol until they fell asleep. However, truth be told, Monica did usually pass out first. Rachel had found herself in Ross' room on several occasion when this had happened in the past. She wasn't sure if Monica had ever found out, but she didn't think she'd really mind, anyway.   
  
Monica pulled a bottle of Vodka out from under her pillow that the girls had been slowly nursing throughout the night. She took a small swallow of it and twisted her face as it slid down her throat, burning her stomach. She handed it to Rachel, who did the same.   
  
"How have your parents never figured out that we steal their liquor, Mon?"   
  
"Oh, I just fill the bottle back up with a little water before they wake up in the morning. They've never said anything." Rachel nodded, taking another sip. The girls sat in silence for a few moments, watching some infomercial that was flashing images of a ridiculously priced, hand-held vacuum cleaner across the screen.   
  
"Okay, so I've got to ask," Monica finally blurted out. Rachel smiled, having known that this was coming at SOME point during the night.   
  
"Have you and Ross...you know...yet?" Rachel shook her head.   
  
"Really?!" Monica squealed in disbelief. Rachel nodded again, confirming her previous answer. "How? I mean, you guys are alone together A LOT. Don't think I don't know that you go over there sometimes after I fall asleep." Uh oh, Rachel though. So she DID know. Monica was smiling, though, indicating that she really didn't mind.   
  
"I don't know," Rachel began, "I mean, it's not like we don't do...other stuff. We've come close a few times."   
  
"Well, then why haven't you?" Monica was gripping her pillow tightly to her chest, surprised at how eager she was to hear about her own BROTHER'S sexual activities. Usually, that would have disgusted her. Something about the fact that it was Ross and Rachel intrigued her, though.   
  
"I guess it's my fault. I mean, I'm just not ready. I'm sure that if I told him I was, he'd have no problem with it."   
  
"I think that's probably the understatement of the century," Monica joked. Rachel smiled.   
  
"Yeah. I know he does...He's an 18-year-old guy, of COURSE he does!"  
  
"Do you love him?" Rachel didn't even have to think about her answer. It was instinctive. It spilt from her lips more naturally than even she had expected.   
  
"Yes."   
  
"Well, are you guys IN love?"  
  
"Yes, more so than I ever could have imagined."   
  
"So what makes you think you aren't ready?" Rachel shrugged, getting up from the bed and crossing the room to look at herself in the mirror. She was wearing short black Sophie shorts and a long-sleeved royal blue t-shirt that said "New York University Fencing Club" on it. She'd gotten it at the thrift store several years ago. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun that managed to look strategically placed, even in all of it's haste. Monica watched her friend look at herself in the mirror, unable to help but envy her slightly. She had always though of Rachel as being the most beautiful girl she'd ever met, and sometimes secretly wished that she could be her...even if it was just for a day. She shook the feeling quickly, though, and smiled at her goofy friend as she watched Rachel reach for a Cat In The Hat hat that Ross had won for Monica last year at the State Fair.   
  
"I don't know. Maybe I am ready," she mused, removing the hat from her head and turning around to face her friend. "I'm sure it would be great...I mean, he's WONDERFUL at all the other stuff..." Monica put up her hand.   
  
"Woah, he's still my brother." Rachel nodded, sitting down in a swivel chair and resting her feet up on Monica's desk.   
  
"I don't know what the hold-up is. I'm sure it'll happen eventually. It only makes sense for Ross to be my first. At this point, I can't even imagine myself with anyone else." Monica nodded. She couldn't imagine Rachel with anyone but her brother, either.   
  
"Just promise me you'll tell me everything about it." Rachel stopped her swiveling.   
  
"Really? Everything?" Monica smiled.  
  
"I'll try to forget that he's my brother for that one conversation."   
  
"Speaking of your stupid brother, where is he tonight?"   
  
"He went to some concert at NYU with Chandler. He actually told me to tell you that he'd be back around 2 am, in case you wanted to 'come say hi'." Monica emphasized the last portion, making the connotations of Ross' words quite clear. Rachel couldn't help but giggle and become giddy with the prospect of seeing Ross so soon. She saw him every day, but she got butterflies in her stomach every time. Monica saw this and made note if it.   
  
"You really do love my dumbass brother, don't you?" Rachel smiled, bringing her right hand up to her neck and nervously fingering the thick hemp necklace there that Ross had bought for her impulsively on their first date to the mall. There were several other necklaces there, mostly thin multicolored ones that she'd braided from string and that had since become tainted with swimming pool bleach and limp from the waters of multiple showers, but Ross' hemp one always stood out.   
  
"You don't mind if I...'go say hi', do you?" Rachel asked shyly. Monica threw the lime green pillow she'd been holding at her love-struck friend, readjusting herself on the bed.   
  
"No, loser, of course I don't mind. Just be careful not to wake me up with all of your moaning and crap." Monica teased, unable to let her friend off so easily without throwing in a last-ditch quip. "It's only midnight, though. I'm kind of tired so I'm going to go to sleep. Tell Ross I said I hope he and Chandler had fun at their concert." Monica switched off the light beside her bed and turned over underneath the covers to face the window. Rachel made her way to the floor beside her friend's bed in the dark. She decided to get a few hours of sleep before seeing Ross.  
  
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"Pst, Rach!" Rachel raised her head slowly from the floor, opening her eyes to complete darkness.   
  
"Rachel...you awake?" She propped herself up on both elbows, looking over at the door and waiting for her eyes to adjust. She glanced up at the clock. 2:17 am. When she looked back at the door, she could faintly make out Ross' silhouette. The door was cracked open and he was whispering to her from the other side.   
  
"Yeah, I'm up," she groggily managed. Careful not to wake Monica, she got up from the floor and joined him on the other side of the door. It was dark in the hallway, too, but the light from the bathroom at the end of it provided at least some luminance.  
  
"Hi," she whispered, smiling up at him. He was wearing dark jeans and a white t-shirt that clung tightly to his body. It had apparently been raining outside, since the shirt was almost entirely transparent and his shaggy brown hair was damp. He jerked his head, shaking some of the excess water off. She smoothed her hands over his chest and then wrapped them around his waist, feeling the muscles of his pecs and back beneath her hands.   
  
"Hi," he replied, wrapping her in his arms and bending down to place a kiss on her forehead.   
  
"Weren't you wearing a jacket?" she asked, realizing now exactly how cold he must have been.   
  
"No, I'll be okay. Come on, let's go to my room."   
  
He took her hand and led her to the end of the hallway. They went through the last door on the left, ascending a staircase that stopped at the top of Ross' attic room. It was a slightly unfinished room, but it was enormous. The walls were still made of unpainted wood, but they sloped down on two sides and were dressed with one inset window on each and a huge skylight over his bed. Posters of "Depeche Mode", "Def Leopard" and "The Rolling Stones" lined the walls and dirty clothes and books littered the floors. Besides his queen-sized, oak-framed bed, the only other pieces of furniture in the gigantic room was a desk, two end-tables on either side of the bed, a book shelf and a dresser. For how gigantic the room was, it seemed sparsely furnished. An electric guitar sat on a stand in the corner, along with an amp and some sort of electrical music mixing machine that Ross had never quite been able to explain properly to her. All in all, it was a typical teenage boy's room.   
  
With his hand still clasped tightly around her wrist, Ross led her over to his bed. No lights were on in the room, and the beginning of what looked like a severe thunderstorm was pounding effervescently against the skylight above them. The moon was huge and brilliant, casting at least some light into the attic. The navy sheets and comforter on his bed were soft but messy, and he apologized weakly as they sat down. She smiled, shaking her head as she leaned into a kiss that they'd both been yearning and anticipating since their eyes had adjusted in the dark that night. He turned, letting one of his hands rest heavily on her thigh and the other explore her back.   
  
"So, did you and Monica have fun tonight?" he whispered, having broken the kiss and was now rubbing circles with both of his thumbs on the inside of her wrists.   
  
"Yeah, but you know, we always have a lot of fun. We just talked and stuff...and drank," Ross smiled. He knew that his sister and his girlfriend had a lot of fun together, and it made him happy to hear. Rachel had always been best friends with Monica, even when she had been overweight and lonely. That was what Ross had noticed first about her- her since of compassion and total disregard to what anyone else thought of her. She was her own person, and she would do anything for anyone she cared about. Her heart was bigger than anyone else's he'd ever encountered.   
  
"Did you and Chandler have fun at your concert?" He nodded, kind of scanning the room with his eyes.   
  
"Yeah, it was fun. It was a local band, but I got a signed poster. I need to find somewhere to put it, though. I wish you could have been there," she giggled softly, running a hand over his back and kissing his shoulder.   
  
"You didn't hook up with any hot college chicks, did you?" Rachel teased, leaning her head against Ross' shoulder.   
  
"Well, you know," he complied, taking both of her hands in his and stroking her arm, "this one girl was kind of all over me. I almost did it, but I didn't think my girlfriend would've liked that very much." Rachel raised her head and looked him in the eyes, a glimpse of something genuinely concerned flashing over her face. Ross smiled.   
  
"Relax, sweety, I was just kidding." He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her tightly into his side as the rain picked up over their heads. "Besides, even if I wanted to, I don't think I could find a girl I was more attracted to than you." This threw Rachel for a loop. She obviously knew that Ross was attracted to her, but he had never verbally voiced it outside of an intimate moment of passion, and even then it's simplicity and endearing quality had been blurred by needy words like "hot" and "fuck". Something about the way he said "girl" and "attracted" made him seem so vulnerable and boyish, and she loved it.   
  
"Really?" she asked hopefully. He laughed briefly and sweetly at the fact that she had never truly known that before, when he had known it since the first time he'd seen her.   
  
"I can't believe you don't know that, baby. Rachel...Rach...I could never, in a thousand years on this Earth, find another single person who I could love and want as much as you. Never." Oddly enough, the very first thing that she noticed about his profession was his use of the word "baby". It still amazed her how that didn't bother her. When other boys had used that name with her in the past, it had seemed demeaning and unnatural. Something about the way he said it fit, though.   
  
"Hey Ross..."she began, somewhat apprehensively, "does it ever...frustrate you that we haven't had sex yet?" Ross was visibly surprised by this question. He turned to look at her, furrowing his brow slightly.   
  
"What- uh, what do you mean?" Then, before she could answer, he continued. "Rachel, where would you get that idea? You don't think- I mean, I've never been too pushy about it, have I? If I have, listen, I didn't mean to. It's just that sometimes I see you and, you know, I get kind of caught up in the moment, but if you want me to-" Rachel placed a finger of his mouth, silencing him.   
  
"Shhh, sweety, it's okay. That's not why I asked. You've never pressured me into doing anything that I didn't absolutely want to do. I just asked because Monica asked me tonight if we ever had, and I told her 'no', but then we talked about it and I realized I didn't really know if I had a reason not to anymore. Plus, you're 18 and you're a guy and we've been dating for like half a year and I just thought that meant that maybe you were expecting something, and I didn't want to let you down." Rachel was now nervously playing with her hair, obviously having made herself uncomfortable and now feeling embarrassed. Ross just sat there shocked with his mouth slightly agape. He couldn't believe his ears.  
  
"Rachel, I want you to listen really carefully to me, okay? I want you to hear everything I'm about to say, because I don't want there to ever be any question about this again. I don't expect anything from you. Every day, I wake up and the very first thing I think about is how incredibly, insanely, impossibly lucky I am that you would ever want to share yourself with me. Anything you offer to me, I'll gladly take it. No matter how small or large it is, I will always be happy with it, just because it's part of you. I don't care how old I am, or how many other people are doing it, or how long we've been dating. If you want to wait until you're married...then I'll just hope to God that I'm the man you decide to meet at the end of the aisle." Rachel couldn't believe she had found a guy who was so understanding. Finally, after years of believing that a sentimental, sensitive, caring guy was an oxymoron, Rachel had finally found one who could seemingly read her mind and tell her exactly whatever it was that she needed to hear.   
  
"Thank you, Ross," she whispered simply, burying her head in his chest and wrapping her arms around him. He kissed her forehead and rubbed her shoulders gently.   
  
"No problem, babe. You just tell me whenever you're ready, and I'll be here waiting...at least trying to be patient." She smiled into his chest, leaning into him and forcing his body down onto the mattress.   
  
Before she could rest her head completely on his chest, he reached down and lifted his shirt up and over his head in one swift motion. Rachel watched in an almost hypnotic state as the defined muscles of his stomach contracted with his motions. He swung the shirt across the room before unzipping his fly, wadding up his rain-dampened jeans and doing the same with them. He laid his head back down on the pillow with a "thump", sliding one arm around her and bringing the thick pile of sheets and comforters up around their bodies. They laid there like that for a while, staring up at the gleaming moon and dancing raindrops through the skylight. They didn't worry about anyone finding them there. They knew that Ross' parents would be up and out of the house running weekends errands by 7:00 the next morning, and Monica would know better than to come searching for her friend. They had done this several times before- falling asleep in each other's arms. It really was quite amazing that they'd never made it into anything more. They both knew what this was about, though. It wasn't about sex, or passion, or desire. It was about need. It was about the need of being with one in the absence of all the complexities that wear them out and weigh them down during the day. It was about appreciating one another, and knowing that they would never find anything like this again.   
  
End of Chapter 1. Continued in Chapter 2. 


	2. Chapter 2: Touch Her Again

Title: Children Of Eden: Touch Her Again  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13/R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M  
  
I just realized that I put "fantasy" as one of the categories for this fic. I was hesitant to do that to begin with, since I knew it wasn't REALLY going to be fantasy, but that was the closest category I could find that applied to the AU aspect. I'm going to try and change that, as to not confuse anyone.  
  
Also, I know that Phoebe and Joey have yet to make an appearance, but they will be doing so shortly. Hold your horses.  
  
Lastly, my apologies for the chapters not being longer. I want to update at least every other day, but, unfortunately, it's "Hell Month" at UNC right now. In laymen's terms, this means I'm averaging out at about 5 hours of work every night. In order to update the chapters, I have to forfeit precious sleep. Maybe if I get a free night or two, you will be pleasantly surprised by "supersized" chapters :-)   
  
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"Dude, there's NOTHING on TV! Rainy Saturday afternoons suck," Chandler complained, as he sat on Ross' bed and flipped through the channels of the small television that sat on the desk opposite him. Ross was sitting on a stool in the corner, attempting to tune his guitar and not paying much attention to the television OR his friend.   
  
"You want to go catch a movie?" Chandler asked, shutting off the TV all together and collapsing backwards onto Ross' bed. Ross was still not looking up from his guitar.   
  
"I don't know, man," Ross answered reluctantly. "I'm going into the city with Rachel later tonight, and I've got stuff to do before then." Chandler rolled his eyes. It seemed like all his best friend had been doing for the past 6 months was hang out with Rachel. It wasn't that he didn't like Rachel. He knew what a wonderful person she was, and how happy she made Ross, but he couldn't help but harbor a little resentment for the girl who was slowly stealing away his best friend. Instead of voicing these things, however, Chandler just nodded and continued to stare up at the skylight. Ross noticed his friend's silence and put down his guitar.   
  
"Hey, listen, I'm sorry. I know I've been spending a lot of time with Rachel lately. If you want, you can come with us!" Ross offered genuinely. Chandler seemed hesitant, though.   
  
"Eh, I don't know. I don't really want to play third wheel."  
  
"Oh, come on, you won't be a third wheel! If it makes you feel any better, I'll invite Monica and we can all go together!" Chandler rolled the possibility of this over in his mind.   
  
"Where are you guys going, anyway?"   
  
"Just to this new club. You have to be 21 to drink, but you only have to be 18 to get in. It's supposed to be pretty good." Ross got up from where he'd been residing on the stool in the corner and crossed the room to sit at the desk, facing Chandler. He sat down in it backwards, straddling it and leaning forwards against the backrest.   
  
"The girls are only 17, though. How are they supposed to get in?" Ross smiled and shrugged.   
  
"I may have asked someone to make a few calls and get some fake ID's made. That's just a possibility, though," Ross joked. "I can have one for Monica by the end of the night. Be here at 8 and we can all leave together." Chandler nodded in agreement. Going to the opening of a supposedly high-profile club did sound like a lot of fun, and he had to admit, he'd always had somewhat of a thing for Ross' little sister. Even when she was overweight, there was something about her open and supportive nature that drew him to her. Now that she was hot...well, that didn't hurt.   
  
"Hey, I'm going to go pick some things up at the store for my parents and then come back here to get ready. I'll catch you later tonight, man." With that, Ross palmed the plush football that was resting on his desk and threw it at Chandler's chest before. He grabbed his keys off the nightstand and headed for the stairs leading down to the second floor.   
  
"You can stay here for as long as you want," he offered, before disappearing from the landing. Chandler didn't comply, though. He followed Ross down the stairs, leaving the room alone.   
  
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"Shimmer brown or powder blue?" Rachel asked, holding up two different cases of eye shadow to her friend. Monica cogitated carefully about this before finally taking the brown from Rachel.   
  
"Good, because I wanted to wear the blue. It matches my pants!" Rachel smiled and began applying just a thin layer of the make-up to her eyelids. Surprising, for being as into fashion as she was, she didn't like going overboard on make-up. She thought it made her look trashy.   
  
"Ugh, Rachel, isn't this so exciting?! I've never been to a club before!" Rachel turned to look at her friendly doubtfully.   
  
"What? Yes you have! We just went to one last week!"   
  
"Ew, that doesn't count, it was on Staten Island! I'm surprised we didn't get STD's just breathing the AIR in that place!" Monica joked, applying the last touches of her eyeliner and throwing the pencil back into it's case.   
  
"So, what do you think?" she asked, turning to Rachel and allowing her to get a full view. She always seemed to want to try just a little bit harder to look nice whenever she was with Rachel. It frustrated her that her friend seemingly never had to try at all- that just she woke up every morning looking miraculously stunning. When she walked down the street next to Rachel, she knew that guys stared. She wanted them to stare at her, too.   
  
"Gorgeous!" Rachel earnestly replied, flashing a huge, genuine smile. The two girls did look stunning. Monica was wearing an Army green corduroy skirt and a tight, black, long-sleeved shirt. Her hair hung down loosely around her shoulders. It was a simple ensemble, but it fit her well. Rachel, on the other hand, was slightly more casual. She wore a pair of long, khaki Navy blue plants and a white tank top. Her hair, in it's usual style, was up in a messy bun. Monica couldn't help but note how short a time it had taken Rachel to get ready, but how naturally beautiful she still looked.   
  
"Is Ross even home?" Rachel asked, glancing quickly at the clock above Monica's TV.   
  
"Yeah, he's upstairs getting ready." As if on cue, the door to Monica's room suddenly opened and Ross walked in. Immediately, Rachel's eyes lit up. She almost instantly noted how cute and charming he looked. He was wearing dark jeans and a thin, light blue fitting T-shirt. His hair was gelled, and though Monica and Chandler often teased him about it, she had always thought that the looked suited him. What she noticed before all of these things, though, was the same engaging thing that she noticed almost every time she saw him. Around his right wrist, he was wearing 3 bracelets, all of which she'd either given to him or made for him. Two were similar to the necklaces she wore. They were made of red and white string and then black and white string. She'd made them knowing that those color combinations meant eternity and love, but she hadn't actually expected him to wear them, having thought that he would interpret them as being huge threats to his masculinity. He wore them, nonetheless. The third bracelet was made of black string, and it was strung with 6 silver beads that spelt out "Rachel". She smiled.   
  
"Hey ladies. You're both looking lovely tonight." Ross took Rachel under his arm when she came over and leaned into his chest, patting his stomach playfully with her hand.   
  
"Where's Chandler?" Monica asked, with a hint of nervousness on her voice. When she had found out about her older brother's friend coming, she had immediately panicked. Chandler was very confident and witty, which sometimes intimidated her. He was also noticeably attractive, though, and she got small butterflies in her stomach when she thought about spending most of the evening with him. She knew that Ross and Rachel would most likely detach themselves during the night- not consciously- and she would be left alone with Chandler.   
  
"I think I just heard his car pull up, actually, so we should probably head downstairs."  
  
Ross, Rachel and Monica were met on the front porch by Chandler. He had just gotten out of his car, and was preparing to knock before they exited the house. His eyes were drawn to Monica before anything else, and his first thought was of how he'd never noticed just how long her legs were. His second was of how short that skirt was.   
  
"Oh, hey man. You ready?" Ross asked, not having noticed the jaw-drop that his friend had just made in regards to his little sister. He pushed past them and headed for the car with Rachel underneath his arm. The sun was already setting, and they needed to hurry if they were going to make the next fairy in time get to the club opening by 8 pm.   
  
They all piled into Ross' car- Rachel in the passenger's seat and Chandler and Monica in the back- and pulled out of the driveway.   
  
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The music was earsplitting. After having waited in line for almost an hour and a half, all four were finally admitted into the club, and the first thing that met them was absolutely earsplitting music. It was a deluded combination of techno and rock, but there were no words and no one recognized the beat. The club was decorated with neon light, dark leather furniture and contemporary artwork painted on the walls. Even though it had only opened a matter of hours before, it already reeked of cigarette smoke. It was on two levels- the one you entered on and a raised, suspended platform that could be reached by a winding staircase located on either side of it. Everywhere, people were dancing and groping one another. Men stinking of cologne were whispering into the ears of women with impossibly huge breasts and right dresses. On the side, bartenders were juggling bottles and putting on shows involving setting the entire countertop on fire. The 4 teenagers felt like children in a candy store.   
  
"This is awesome!" Ross yelled over the music. The other 3 nodded, still somewhat hypnotized by the overwhelming grandeur of the place. Conforming completely with Monica's earlier prediction, Ross took Rachel by the hand and led her away into the sea of gyrating strangers. Monica and Chandler were, as expected, left alone.   
  
"So, uh, you want me to get you something to drink? According to my ID, I'm 22," Chandler offered, trying desperately to lighten the mood. Monica had never drank outside the comfort and security of her own home, but something about the softness in Chandler's voice and the familiarity in his eyes made her feel at ease. She smiled at him, sliding her hand into his.   
  
"Yeah, sure okay."   
  
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After an hour or so of dancing, Ross and Rachel found themselves sitting alone in a large, circular booth near the back of the club. They were both warn out and sweaty from the stifling combination of their dancing and the humid air. Rachel scooted over beside Ross and relaxed into him as he rested his arm on the seat behind her head.   
  
"Tired?" he asked, kissing her on the cheek. She nodded, closing her eyes for a moment. It was only a little after 11 pm, and the club was as full as ever, but both of them were beginning to be worn down by fatigue.   
  
"I wonder what Monica and Chandler have been doing this whole time?" Ross wondered aloud. "We left them a while ago. I hope they're having fun." Knowing about the "secret" crush that her friend had on Chandler, Rachel assured Ross that they mostly likely were.   
  
"She likes him, doesn't she?" he asked, having picked up on the connotations of Rachel's statement immediately.   
  
"What makes you think that?" He shrugged.   
  
"I don't know. She gets kind of nervous around him, the way I get around you." Rachel straightened herself from the leaning position she'd been in and turned in the seat to look at him.   
  
"You mean 'the way you used to get around me'?" she asked. He smiled simply and shook his head, taking one of her hands in his.   
  
"No." Before Rachel had time to lean in and kiss Ross for this particularly touching display of affection, they were interrupted by the abrupt presence of a rather burly man standing on the other side of their table.   
  
"Can we help you?" Ross asked. The man was in his early 20's- probably a college student- and was rather attractive. He was quite obviously drunk, though, and was eyeing Rachel in a way that made her increasingly uncomfortable.   
  
"This young lady right here can help me by agreeing to dance with me." He slurred his speech when he talked. Ross protectively and firmly wrapped his arm around Rachel's shoulder.   
  
"Actually, she's with me, so I don't think so." This didn't discourage the man, though, who was now leaning rather aggressively against the table.  
  
"Aw, come on, buddy! Lighten up!" With this, he leaned across the table and grabbed Rachel's wrist, causing her to gasp out in a moment of panic. He pulled on her arm rather forcefully, bringing her right out of the booth. Ross had been in a state of disbelief that this man would be so forward, but this action snapped him out of it. He quickly slid out of the booth.   
  
"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing? Let go of her!" The man probably outweighed Ross by at least 20 pounds, but that thought didn't even enter his mind. The only thought in his entire head was that he was going to make this man let go of Rachel or die trying. The man eyed Ross, smiling crookedly in a way that managed to contest his humanity. Finally, he dropped Rachel's wrist.   
  
"Okay, no problem. You want me to let her go? I'll let her go." Ross could sense that this wasn't over, though. Then, just as he'd suspected, the man wound up his arm and forcefully smacked Rachel on her ass. Her eyes widened and tears began to well up. She was so enraged that someone would do something like that, that she couldn't even muster up the strength to do anything about it. She looked at Ross, but it was already over. Before she even had time to take notice, Ross had already punched the man square in the face and was now on top of him on the floor, punching him repeatedly.   
  
"Ross, stop it! You're going to get us kicked out of here! Stop!" Deep down, she didn't want him to stop, though. Something about the way in which he uninhibitedly and instinctively rushed to her "rescue" thrilled her. Plus, that bastard deserved whatever he got.   
  
"How does that feel, huh?! Touch her again! I dare you!" Ross screamed at the man whom had compromised the one thing that remained sacred to him. He knew he wasn't thinking clearly, and was fully aware of the mass of bystanders that had accumulated, but he didn't care. The punches had to be thrown.   
  
Finally, after the man's face was a bloodied mess of bruises and cuts, Ross got up from the floor. He looked up and scanned the room. A crowd of at least 40 people had completely stopped whatever it was they'd been doing to watch the scene. He nodded to them, swallowing deeply and taking Rachel's hand. Carefully, he made his way through the crowd to the front of the cub.   
  
"Come on," he said gingerly, "let's find Chandler and Monica and get the hell out of here." Rachel hadn't said anything through all of this. At the forefront of her mind at that moment was the need to get as far away from that club as possible- both because of the unconscious man on the floor and because she knew that if they didn't, Ross would most likely be arrested.   
  
Suddenly, she was very cold. It wasn't a normal kind of cold, though, and it sent chills and goosebumps racing over her skin. She buried her head into Ross' chest and allowed him to rub her back for a few moments before he kissed her forehead and looked down into her eyes.   
  
"I'm sorry. You know I couldn't just let him touch you like that, though, don't you?" Rachel forced a smile, nodding her understanding. He nodded back at her.   
  
"Good. Now," he said, looking up and scanning the room with his eyes, "let's find those two and split."   
  
End Chapter 2. Continued in Chapter 3. 


	3. Chapter 3: If I Could Be Like That

Title: Children Of Eden: If I Could Be Like That  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13/R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M  
  
I just want to note quickly, mostly in response to one of the reviews that I received, that I understand the displacement of my characters (namely Ross) from the actual characters. No, Ross doesn't really play the guitar. He probably wouldn't voluntarily punch a man twice his size. There IS a reason for me implementing these elements into my story, though. I am very aware that these characters aren't "realistic", in terms of how they are portrayed on "Friends". In case some people didn't notice, this story is called "Children of Eden". This is an illusion to Adam and Eve and their sinful acts in the Garden of Eden in Genesis. There IS a method to the madness. I'm not just butchering the characterization of these kids for fun :-)  
  
If you find this premise too unbelievable or out of character to stomach, well...no one's holding a gun to your head .  
  
Also, I'd like to point out that this story is going to be someone "stream-of-consciousness" simply in the fact that many of the events won't serve an especially important purpose later on. Some will, but others are just my attempts at embodying and recreating the typical ups and downs that go along with the final years of high school. Even as I'm about to graduate from college, those were the most emotional and eventful years of my life. I thought it would be fun to play with these characters and let them experience those things, as well. All in all, it's going to be a somewhat frivolous read. It's ultimate goal is to evoke emotion and empathy, not to necessarily pose life-altering questions or challenge any award-winning novels.   
  
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"Where the hell could they be?" Ross wondered aloud, realizing for the first time the unbearable sting of smoke that was clouding his eyes. Chandler and his sister had seemingly disappeared altogether from the nightclub.   
  
"I don't know," Rachel managed between besieged coughs, "but I can't breath. We need to get out of here." Ross nodded. Somehow, their metropolitan night of drinking and dancing had headed rapidly downhill, spiraling into a sleazy swarm of sweaty bodies and contaminated air. The club seemed sinister, almost, and Rachel found herself hating it. Her body gravitated towards the exit, but Ross' hand was gripping steadfast to hers. He didn't seem to notice her impending panic attack. He was too busy scanning the room. Suddenly, his eyes found something and focused in.   
  
"They're over by the bar! Come on!" Ross didn't let go of her hand, pulling her behind him through the sea of coldhearted strangers. Once they got closer, it was quite apparent that Monica and Chandler had been having a much better time than them. Their bodies were pushed close together, and they seemed oblivious to the world around them. They were laughing loudly and gesturing dramatically. They were most definitely drunk.   
  
"Come on," Ross shouted in a demanding tone. "We've got to get out of here." Chandler and Monica stared blankly at him, totally unaffected by his words.   
  
"Wha? How come?" Monica asked through slurred speech and slit eyes. This caught Ross' attention immediately, and he jerked his head towards Chandler.   
  
"Dude, you got my sister drunk?" he asked in an accusing tone. Rachel smacked his arm.   
  
"Ross, you just punched a guy! This isn't the time! Come on!" Upon her revelation, Monica and Chandler both turned their gazes back to Ross.   
  
"What!? You punched someone?" Chandler asked. Ross rolled his eyes, grabbing Monica's jacket and tugging on Chandler's shirt sleeve.   
  
"I'll tell you about it later. Come on." With that, the four wove their way in and out of the crowd, blindly heading towards something that may or may have not been the exit. After several minutes of directionless searching, they found the bright neon sign that they'd come in by. They busted out of the front doors, each one taking their respective gasps of fresh air upon reaching the sidewalk.   
  
"Come on, the car's this way," Ross instructed, leading the other 3 rapidly in the direction of the valet parking lot. Once they'd all piled back into the car and pulled into traffic, and after everyone had the time to catch their breath and collect their thoughts, the questions began flying.   
  
"Dude, what the hell was that?" Ross' jaw clenched tightly as he struggled to not say anything out of line about Chandler's irresponsible conduct with his sister. He decided that one fight per night definitely reached his quota. Instead, he would just answered the questions.   
  
"I got in a fight. We had to get out before security found me."   
  
"What?! No, back up. You got in a fight? That doesn't sound a whole lot like you, man. What happened?"   
  
"I don't know. It started off as being nothing, really. This drunken guy stumbled up to our table and asked Rachel to dance. I told him to get lost, which I guess he didn't like too much, so he grabbed her by the arm." Monica, even in her drunken state, spoke up during this portion of the story.   
  
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry!" Rachel remained silent, clinging tightly to Ross' sweatshirt and sitting with her head turned to face the window.   
  
"Anyway, I got up from the booth and told him to let her go, at which point he grabbed her ass. I just...I don't know, I just lost it."   
  
"Geez, man, that's wild!" Chandler seemed more excited about this news that disgusted by it. Ross was outwardly unaffected.   
  
"Let's just not talk about it anymore, okay?"  
  
The remainder of the ride home was spent in silence. Ross clasped tightly to the steering wheel, clenching his jaw against words that were best left unspoken and turning his knuckles white until they went numb. Rachel leaned her head against the window pane, secretly gazing into the eyes of her own reflection, rather than some abstract object in the far-off distance. Monica remained tipsy, but what judgment she had left told her not to break the thick silence. Chandler stared at the back of the seat in front of him with the nagging feeling plaguing him that he had, in some way, let his best friend down that night. The Long Island and Manhattan had never seemed so far apart.  
  
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"Hey, about tonight..." Chandler wasn't exactly sure of what words would fit best trailing after those, so he just stopped there. He pulled the shirt he'd been wearing over his head, throwing it on the floor beside Ross' bed and trading it for a plain white t-shirt from his gym bag. Ross hadn't spoken but a handful of words since they'd returned to the house. It was approaching 2 am, and even as the boys got ready for bed, an uncomfortable tension hung between them as heavy as wet clothes on a wire.   
  
"Yeah?" Ross asked, looking at him inquisitively. If Chandler had looked closer, he would have seen that the look had actually been more challenging than inquisitive. He sighed deeply, scratching his head and searching for the words.   
  
"I know I shouldn't have let Monica drink so much. I guess I just forgot that most girls don't hold their liquor as well as us. I feel really bad about it." Ross nodded, still not verbally acknowledging Chandler's apology or even his presence. Chandler became frustrated.   
  
"Come on, man, throw me a bone here. What do you want me to do?"   
  
"Do you like her?" Ross' question was abrupt, particularly so since it was accented by his recent noticeable lack of words.   
  
"What? Do I like who?"  
  
"Monica. Do you like her?" Chandler didn't know what to say. He felt as if this was some sort of test, as Ross was constantly asking such questions that he actually had no interest in knowing the answers to, but rather just wanted to prove a point. He felt trapped- like no answer he provided could possibly be the right one.   
  
"I- I don't know. I mean, she's cute. She's nice..." Chandler chuckled, realizing how immature and childish he was sounding. "What do you mean by 'like her'?" Ross threw down the pair of boxers he'd been holding in his hand.   
  
"Just answer the question, Chandler." His words weren't threatening or demanding. There was no twinge of bitterness or confrontation in his voice. Instead, he sounded almost pleading, as if he were tired of beating around the bush and eager to have his answers so he could move on to whatever else might have been ailing him. Chandler decided to give him his honesty.   
  
"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do." Ross nodded again, but this time not mockingly so.   
  
"Okay, then." Chandler knew that wasn't the end of his statement. He shouldn't be so lucky. "Then take care of her. That's all I ask. If you actually like her, then I can be happy for you, but if you're just trying to get my little sister drunk to get her into the sack..." Chandler cut him off right there, concern filling his face and voice.   
  
"Woah, is that what you think? What, just because she's younger then me? What about you and Rachel, huh? Are you just trying to 'get her into the sack'?" He was surprised to find that he was getting this defensive. Ross took a step towards Chandler, pointing an accusatory finger.   
  
"Watch what you say, Chandler. You know that's not even close to the truth."  
  
"Then watch what you say, alright? Listen, I actually like Monica. I mean, for the first time, I'm really caring about what a girl has to say. When I'm with her, I don't even NOTICE anyone else This is different, okay, man? You're right, I should have taken better care of her tonight, and I won't let anything like that happen again, but it's not fair for you to just assume that my intentions with her are anything but admirable. Because you're wrong." Ross just stood there for a moment, facing off with his friend. He felt like an asshole. He'd unfairly jumped to conclusions based solely on Chandler's past experience with girls. He softened and put a hand on Chandler's shoulder.   
  
"I'm sorry, man. This whole night has been really stressful. I didn't mean to take it out on you. If you like Monica, then that's great, and if she has to be with anyone, then I'm glad it's you." Ross smiled to punctuate his point, and after exchanging a slap on the back, the two boys had forgotten that any dispute had ever existed between them by the time their heads met their pillows.   
  
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"Rach, you haven't said anything in almost 2 hours. You're not okay. Now, what's wrong?" The two girls were lying on Monica's bed in their pajamas. Monica had long since given up on early-morning television or any hopes of getting Rachel to actually enjoy the music that she'd been paying on the stereo. Instead, her friend chose to sit stoically on her bed and stare out into the open chasm of darkness that loomed outside her window.   
  
"Huh? Oh, no, I'm fine." She turned her head just long enough to utter those words before returning her gaze to the window.   
  
"Don't give me that crap. We've been best friends for years, and I KNOW when you're not okay. Tell me what's wrong." She scooted closer to her friend, hoping that the sentiment would provide some sort of subconscious mental support. Rachel sighed deeply, clutching her pillow to her chest.   
  
"It's hard to explain, I guess." That was something, Monica thought. She would work from there.  
  
"Try me."   
  
"I just feel so...dirty." Monica didn't really understand, but she wanted to. If Rachel was talking about her encounter with the anonymous man earlier that evening, she couldn't really figure out what about that would make her feel "dirty".   
  
"Why? Worse could have happened, you know. So the guy touched your ass. Big deal. It was over in like a second and you never have to see him again." Rachel turned to look at her friend, averting her eyes from the window for the second or third time that night.   
  
"I told you it was hard to explain. I don't know why it bothers me so much. It's not like guys haven't touched me before. This just felt...different." Still, Monica wasn't seeing the big picture. What was more, she was becoming a little agitated at what she felt was a severe overreaction to a not-so-complex situation.   
  
"Come on, Rachel, it was no big deal. If it were me, I might have even been flattered." Rachel shot her friend a confused stare that somehow also hinted at enragement.   
  
"What? How could you say that? Monica, this man was disgusting. He was drunk, and huge, and perverted. When he touched me, I felt sick."   
  
"At least he wanted to touch you," Monica murmured underneath her breath.   
  
"What?" Rachel's tone was sharp and biting, and Monica was being less than understanding.   
  
"Come on, Rachel! I know you see all those guys who stare at you when you walk down the hallway. Don't act like you don't know it's happening. There probably isn't a guy at our school who doesn't want to get into your pants. Why can't you just be happy? So what if you have to encounter a few pervs every now and then? I'd give anything to be like that." Rachel shook her head, the beginning of teardrops slowly welling up in her eyes.   
  
"Don't say that," she whispered, letting the streams of wetness streak her face and fall freely onto the pillow that sat on her lap.   
  
"I know it must be pretty hard- being wanted by every guy you meet. That seems like a lot of work." Monica was becoming increasingly bitter and sharp with every word, practically spitting them from her tongue by the end. Rachel was confused. What had she done to deserve this?  
  
"Monica, what's the matter with you?"  
  
"What's the matter with ME? How about what's the matter with YOU? One guy- a COLLEGE guy, no less- grabs your ass and you freak out! God, Rachel, wake up! Don't you realize how many girls would KILL to be you? To look like you?"  
  
"Yeah, that's just it!" Rachel was yelling now, matching Monica in both the strength and volume of her voice. She threw the pillow she'd been holding on the floor. "They want to look like me! Or they want to have sex with me! Or they want to grab my ass! Let's completely forget about the fact that I'm a human being! Until Ross, no guy I'd ever dated even knew my BIRTHDAY! No one asks me what I want to do when I grow up, or what my favorite holiday is, or why I like curly fries more than straight ones! If everyone loves me so goddamn much, Monica, then why can't more then maybe 3 people in our entire school tell me that I like sailing and coffee ice cream?" Monica had nothing to say. She was speechless. Rachel continued.   
  
"Trust me, Monica, you don't want to be me. Forget the hair, and the smile, and the nice clothes, alright? Forget that I've dated half the football team, and that I used to be captain of the cheerleading squad. At the end of the day, I'm just like everyone else, but I don't even have all of the relationships to show for it. I have you and Ross, and that's it. Maybe getting molested by some sleazy pedophile in a smoke-filled nightclub just SCREAMS of glamour and vanity to you, but not to me." Both were quiet for a few moments.   
  
"I- I'm sorry. I don't know what to say." Rachel shook her head and continued to look out the window as if she'd never stopped.   
  
"You don't have to say anything. Just know that..." She turned back to look at her best friend.   
  
"I just wish you knew how beautiful you were."   
  
End Chapter 3. To Be Continued in Chapter 4. 


	4. Chapter 4: The Italian Job

Title: Children Of Eden: The Italian Job  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13/R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M  
  
I received yet another review about the off-center depiction of the characters. Once again, that is the intent of this story. This is an AU fic. For those of you who might not know what that means, it stands for Alternate Universe. This means that not everything will be portrayed exactly according to the show's guidelines, or necessarily within the realm of possibility that the show presents. They are out of character for a reason. Believe it or not, I'm not just making this up as I go along :-)   
  
If you would like to review the story with constructive criticism, I am all for that. I like hearing what people think I need to improve on. However, if I explicitly state in the preface that I am making certain plotline decisions ON PURPOSE, I'd prefer that people not continue to point this out to me. It IS intentional, and it DOES require a certain level of suspension of disbelief in order to enjoy it. If you don't like this literary choice, then you might be interested in reading another story.   
  
I KNOW THIS IS A SHORT UPDATE. I wanted to update tonight, and this chapter will quite obviously be an important one in the long run, even if it's not as eventful or long as the others. I promise that this will be the shortest update of the series.   
  
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"I just wish you knew how beautiful you were." Rachel's words reverberated through Monica's head. She had never been called beautiful before- not from any lovelorn boy or jealous girlfriend. Even her parents preferred such words as "cute" and "ladylike", so her friend's words sent a wave of warmth flowing through her body.   
  
"Rach, I- I don't know what to say. Let's just forget I ever brought it up, okay? I was wrong." Rachel nodded, finally dropping the pillow from the death grip that she'd had it in all night. For the first time since they'd left the club, her shoulders were not held back with such a rigid force and the pronunciation of lines and angry shadows on her face ran away.   
  
"I know I sprung a lot on you at once. It wasn't your fault." Monica smiled weakly, rubbing her friend's arm.   
  
"Okay, good. Let's go to sleep. It's late and I'm pretty tired." The two girls climbed into the twin-sized bed together, facing their separate directions but naturally gravitating towards one another as they drifted off to sleep. They sought condolence and acceptance from each other, each in their own way, and even in their sleep. For a girl whose life had not started until her 16th year, and for another who searched desperately for some sort of absolution in an imagine tinted by golden hair and a glossy smile, the comfort of a too-small bed was all that was required to heal their ailments that night.   
  
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"Hey, who's that?" Rachel asked, shielding her eyes from the sun's unforgiving rays. She and Ross were standing on a grassy hill in front of the school, facing the street. A few minutes before, a black mustang pulled up to the sidewalk, and a group of girls had not hesitated to congregate around it. Ross shrugged.   
  
"I don't know. He's in my Civ class. He just moved here. I think his name is like Jack, or Joe or something." The group of obnoxious girls was too dense for Rachel to decipher what it's mystery driver actually looked like, but something about the way in which he'd pulled so charismatically and smoothly up to the curb and had provoked a fan base before his feet even hit the pavement intrigued Rachel.   
  
"Where'd he move from?" she asked, still shielding her eyes in hopes of sneaking a peek at his face.   
  
"Uh, Queens, I think. He seems like kind of an asshole, but maybe that's just me." Rachel smiled and rolled her eyes discretely.   
  
"Of course it's just you. You think every guy I ask you about is an asshole. Come on, let's go say hi." Rachel grabbed Ross by the wrist and trotted down the hill to the sidewalk, just in time for the crowd of girls to disperse. Like a situation similar to the parting of the Dead Sea, the mystery Mustang driver was quite climactically revealed to the inquiring couple.   
  
His most distinguishing and overt feature was his obvious Italian bloodline. He had dark hair and eyes, accented by deep Olive skin and a somewhat hard exterior. He was leaning against his car, his legs crossed casually and his arms draped over the hood. His shirt was tight, revealing tones muscles and an expanse of tanned skin. He starred blankly at Ross. Obviously, they would have to make the first move.   
  
"Hi," Rachel chirped, "I'm Rachel! Are you new here?" The Italian nodded but seemed unaffected, reaching up with his pinky finger to retrieve a piece of something that had been stuck in his teeth.   
  
"Yeah. Is this like the welcoming committee?" Rachel would have been offended, but something in his tone told her that he was being serious. Maybe he wasn't as cold as his exterior let on.  
  
"Oh, no, we were just curious about you. I like your car. What year is it?" Italy glanced back at his car as if he were rediscovering its existence.   
  
"Oh, this? It's a '69. It was my dad's." There was a long awkward pause that was finally broken by Italy gesturing towards Ross.   
  
"Who're you?" he asked, his accent ringing out more prominently.   
  
"Oh, uh, I'm Ross." He extended his hand, which Italy took. "I think you're in my Civ class. What's your name again?"   
  
"Joey," he said simply. Ross nodded dramatically.   
  
"Oh, right, right. I knew it was something like that. And you're from Queens?" Joey nodded.   
  
"My parents just split and my dad moved back to Italy, so I'm staying here with my grandma for a while."   
  
"You a senior?" Ross asked.   
  
"No, 'fraid not. I could be, but I got held back a year." Ross looked sympathetic, but not particularly surprised.   
  
"Oh, that's tough. What year?"   
  
"Kindergarten."   
  
"What?" Ross asked in disbelief. "I didn't know you could be held back in Kindergarten." This came out more harshly and rudely than he even realized. Rachel didn't miss his insensitivity, though, and she smacked him hard on his stomach.   
  
"Well, apparently so. Something about me not getting the alphabet down. Who knows, though?" Rachel nodded.   
  
"Well, we've got to get going, but it was nice meeting you! If you're ever looking for something to do, don't hesitate to ask!" As Ross and Rachel turned to leave, Joey shouted out to get their attention.   
  
"Hey! Are you two, you know...together?" They both seemed a little shocked at the abruptness of his question, but Rachel finally nodded 'yes'.   
  
"Oh," Joey stated fatly, more than just a little disappointment filling his voice. "That's a shame." He accented his comment by winking flirtatiously at her. With that, he climbed back into the driver's seat of his '69 Mustang and sped away, leaving Ross with his mouth hanging open. He pointed in the direction of the speeding-away car.   
  
"Did you see that!? He totally just came onto you! Right in front of me!" Rachel grabbed his hand and began walking away in the direction of the parking lot.   
  
"Oh, come on, you're overreacting. He was just messing around." She laced her fingers in his in an attempt at easing his insecurities, but he was obviously not letting it go.   
  
"Not a big deal? He WINKED, for crying out loud! Who the hell WINKS?"   
  
"Honey, he was just kidding. He knew we were together. He was being nice."   
  
"Nice!? What would have been NICE was not coming onto my girlfriend in front of my face! Let me tell you something, we're NOT talking to that guy again." Rachel looked up at Ross but still clung to his hand.   
  
"Okay, honey, whatever you say." They made their way to his car in the student parking lot with Ross making a dramatized scene the entire way. Despite what he said, though, Rachel couldn't help but think that this would not be their last time crossing paths with that stoic Italian with the classic car and olive skin.   
  
End Chapter 4. Continued in Chapter 5. 


	5. Chapter 5: Pretty Woman

Title: Children Of Eden: Pretty Woman   
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13/R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M  
  
Time to make the sextet complete! Thanks for waiting patiently for Phoebe's debut.   
  
Again, this will be a fairly short update. HOWEVER, the one following this one will be quite long and quite eventful, I promise. I'm going to NYC for Spring Break with some friends, so I won't be back to update for about a week, but try and stay patient. The next update will be a biggie.:-)  
  
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"What about a movie?" Chandler asked detachedly, thumbing through a black spiral notebook. He was sitting with Monica, Rachel and Ross in a corner of the school's commons area. The four were lounging there underneath a large oak tree during their lunch period, discussing possibilities for plans that coming weekend. Chandler sat on a small brick ledge that fenced in a raised garden with Monica at his side. Ross was leaning against the wall and Rachel was laying casually sprawled out at his side with her head in his lap.   
  
"No way, we do that like every weekend. No more movies, or clubs, or hanging out at our house"," Ross contested.   
  
"Yeah!" Monica spoke up. "You guys are at our house like every day! It's you and Rachel's turn to think of something to do," Monica teased, shoving Chandler playfully in the shoulder. This surprised him, as they had not spoken much since that hectic night at the club. Still, something close to iridescent sparkled in her eyes when she smiled at him. He grinned back, feeling immediately like a loser, but not really regretting it.   
  
"I've got an idea." Rachel spoke up from her place on the ground. "There's a reservoir like 10 miles past my house that I didn't used to know was there. We could go check that out."   
  
"What are we going to do at a big cement hole filled with water?" Chandler asked skeptically. Rachel shrugged, bending her neck backwards to catch her boyfriend's best friend's eye and simultaneously shielding her eyes from the glare of the beating sun.   
  
"I don't know. It beats seeing another bad movie, though."   
  
"I think it sounds like a good idea," Ross offered, bending down at the waist to kiss the tip of Rachel's nose. She smiled thankfully at him.   
  
Meanwhile, Ross' attention was captured by a familiar gait that was making it's wait across the courtyard. The boy was wearing a royal blue Nick's shirt and jet black sunglasses to match his hard. Appropriate, Ross thought. The second generation Italian spotted the group of four and smiled weakly, changing his direction and making his way over to the group. Ross made no efforts to conceal an exaggerated sigh.   
  
"Ross and Rachel, right?" he asked, sliding this thumbs underneath their respective shoulder straps after removing his sunglasses. Rachel smiled warmly and nodded. Ross remained stoic.   
  
"Joey, this is Chandler and Monica. Guys, this is Joey. He just moved here from Queens." Rachel introduced everyone, but Monica and Chandler still darned looks of confusion. They smiled politely but secretly wondered just who this Joey was and how Rachel knew him.   
  
"So, what're you guys doing?" he asked, trying desperately to make conversation and to not allow the conversation to thin out to an awkward pause.   
  
"Uh, we were just talking about what we were going to do this weekend," Chandler informed, leaning forward to rest his arms on his thighs and clasp his hands together. "We're thinking about the reservoir. Do you know anything about it?"   
  
"I think I pass it sometimes on the back way to my grandma's."  
  
"Well, hey, why don't you join us?" Rachel asked emphatically. Ross spun his head around and shot her a confused and slightly worried look.   
  
"What!?" he spat, unable to control his disappointment and disapproval. Rachel eyed him, wordlessly begging him to be polite.   
  
"Yeah, it'll be fun! We're going to go out there tonight. You can just meet us there, if you want." Joey nodded and smiled.   
  
"You know what, I think I'll take you up on that." He quickly scribbled down his number on a slip of paper and handed it to Rachel, "I've got to get going now, but call me if anything changes." With that, he smiled once more and threw up a hand haphazardly to signal his departure. As he was walking away, Ross took the paper from Rachel's hand and looked at it.  
  
"Can you believe this guy!? This is the second time in a week that he's done something like this!"   
  
"Ross, done something like what?" Rachel asked, reflections of annoyance shading her voice. He held up the small piece of paper that he was holding.   
  
"I don't know, maybe FLIRTED with you right in front of me? He could have given this to any one of us, but he gave it to you- his HOME number! Don't try and tell me he doesn't have some serious ulterior motives here." Rachel took a deep breath and retrieved the paper from Ross hand, folded it, and stuck it into her back pocket.   
  
"Maybe it's because I'm the only one who wants to be nice to him! He's new here- I'm just trying to help him fit in. He seems like a nice enough guy. Plus, you know what else, his parents just got divorced. Give the guy a break." Ross turned it head away for a moment and watched Joey as he disappeared into the administrative building. He turned back to face her.  
  
"Fine, I'll give him a chance....but if he comes onto you ONE MORE TIME-"   
  
"I know, I know, you'll punch him in the face, or do something equally as 'manly'," Rachel mocked. Ross gave her an "I'm not amused" face, to which she replied by playfully sticking out her tongue and patting him on the leg. Dammit, he thought. She can get away with ANYTHING that way.   
  
Just then, a multicolored Hack Sack landed directly in the middle of the group. Chandler picked it up and raised his head to see if he could decipher an owner, but was met by the face of a young girl standing just a few feet in front of him.   
  
"Whoop, sorry about that," the girl apologized. "My friends and I were playing around. It must have just gotten away from us."   
  
"That's okay." Chandler nodded and handed the girl her ball back. It wasn't until she moved underneath the shadow of the tree and got the sunlight out of her face that he actually saw how strikingly attractive she was. She had ringlets of long blonde hair that fell down around her shoulders and piercing blue eyes. She was wearing Earthy tones and several beaded necklaces and bracelets.   
  
"My name's Phoebe, by the way. You're Monica, right?" she asked, turning her head to the brunette seated at Chandler's right. Monica nodded.   
  
"Yeah, I think we have Earth Science together," Monica replied. Phoebe smiled and nodded.   
  
"Right. Hey, do you mind if I ask who that guy is who was just over here? I saw him driving around in his Mustang the other day."   
  
"Oh, uh, that's Joey. He just moved here," Chandler offered, realizing that he was the official spokesperson of the group to this pretty girl who had stumbled so unexpectedly into their lives.   
  
"Are you guys friends with him?" she asked.   
  
"Like peas and carrots," Ross spoke up, the sarcasm dripping from words.   
  
"Don't mind him," Monica warned. "He's just bitter. We don't know him that well, but we are going out to the reservoir with him tonight. He's a pretty nice guy." Phoebe nodded politely.   
  
"The reservoir? I didn't even know we had one of those out here."   
  
"Apparently so," Chandler shrugged. "You could come, too, if you wanted. Invite your friends. We can make a night of it." The other 3 turned to Chandler, a bit unsure of why he had just invited this near stranger in on their evening plans. Monica was eyeing him especially closely.   
  
"Hm, I might do that. Where is it?"   
  
"Oh, uh, just like 4 or so miles down Meachum Road. There's a big steal gate- you can't miss it," Rachel guided.   
  
"Hey Pheebs!" a lanky boy with shaggy brown hair yelled from across the courtyard. "You gonna bring us the ball back, or what?"   
  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming!" she yelled back. "Well, I'd better go, but thanks for telling me about the reservoir. And that Joey guy's going to be there?" she asked, obviously quite intrigued by him.   
  
"That's why I'm told," Ross quipped again.   
  
"Great," she replied, waving goodbye and turning to return to her group of friends.   
  
"Chandler," Rachel began, "what the hell was that?" He shrugged.   
  
"I don't know, she seemed nice. Joey seemed nice, too, right? There's nothing wrong with expanding our horizons. Plus, maybe she'll bring some of her friends, and maybe some of those friends with bring beer. You never know." He flashed Ross a knowing smile.  
  
"Good call, buddy."  
  
"Ugh, HOW do you guys get such good grades?" Monica whined. "All you ever do it drink and sleep!" Chandler smiled, finding her complaint cute, but Ross seemed less amused.   
  
"Okay, am I going to have to separate you two?" Rachel asked, using the pavement to raise herself to her feet. "I've got a Spanish class to go to, but I'll see you guys tonight." Ross stood with her and encircled her in a tight embrace, planting a big kiss on the top of her head. She allowed herself to bury her head momentarily into his cologne-scented shirt before lightheartedly smacking his ass and pulling away. Monica rolled her eyes, but linked arms with Rachel.   
  
"Eck, get a room." 


	6. Chapter 6: Nightswimming I

Title: Nightswimming I  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13/R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M  
  
Okay, so I lied. The update will actually come BEFORE my New York trip. As it turns out, we're not leaving until 4 pm. So, I'm spending my afternoon packing, writing a paper and continuing this fic. I've been brainstorming about this chapter for a while, so I hope I do it justice! I'm going to do it in two installments, as I don't want to rush through and accidentally glaze right over some significant parts. If this is unclear, I am splitting the huge update into two, fairly sizable updates. The next one will be a new CHAPTER, but will be entitled "Nightswimming II", as it will also take place at the reservoir and will tie up loose ends from the happenings there. I hope this makes sense.  
  
The title of this chapter comes from the song by R.E.M.  
  
Note: I'm not sure if Dr. Green ACTUALLY served in Vietnam, but he did for the purpose of my story :-)  
  
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"Who's this?" Monica asked, picking up a silver picture frame from Rachel's dresser and examining the photograph. It was a black and white print of a man and a woman standing by the ocean. The girl was on the boy's back, dawning a smile so wide that the expanse of teeth caught Monica's eye immediately. The boy, on the other hand, seemed mysterious with intensely dark eyes and a vigilant gaze painted across his face. Rachel glanced quickly at the photo.   
  
"Oh, those are my parents. It was taken right after my dad got back from the war. My mom was just out of high school," Rachel answered, directing her attention back to the toenails that she was painting.   
  
"Wow, your dad looks really serious."  
  
"My dad is really serious," Rachel stated obviously, still not looking up from the meticulous work. "He wasn't always that way, though," she continued, getting up from her place on the carpet and heading for her desk drawer. She reached inside to reveal another photo- this one also in black and white, but of a slightly younger version of the kids from the first one. The boy was adorned in a football uniform and was kissing the hand of the very obviously giddy girl.   
  
"This was my dad's senior year of high school. It was taken 2 weeks before he left for Saigon," Rachel mused, subconsciously running her fingers over the glossy image. She shook her head in nostalgia. "God, look how happy they were." She stared intently at the picture for a few more moments before retuning it to it's rightful place in the drawer.   
  
"They're still happy, Rach. Your dad just got more serious. There's nothing wrong with that. I guess a war and medical school will do that to you." Rachel nodded, having returned to painting her toes in a metallic pink shade.   
  
"I guess," she replied drearily. The girls were quiet for a few more moments. Monica hadn't meant to put such a damper on the moment. Without really thinking, she turned the framed picture upside down on Rachel's dresser. She wasn't sure why.   
  
"Did you know that my mom used to want to be a marine biologist?" Rachel asked seemingly arbitrarily. Monica shook her head.   
  
"Me neither," Rachel replied. "I was in the attic a few weeks ago and I found some of my mom's old notebooks and journals from when she was our age. She wanted to marry my dad, move to California and spend her life on a boat, studying the ocean." She let out an abrupt huff, shaking her head slightly. "I'm glad to see things worked out so well for her."  
  
"Sweety, things did work out well for her. She ended up in a nice house, married to the man she loves, and having 3 beautiful daughters. What else could she ask for?" Monica tried to comfort her friend, but was not really sure what had provoked this onslaught of regretful reminiscence.   
  
"The life she always wanted," Rachel answered, looking up at her friend for the first time since the conversation had begun. "Sure, this is okay, Monica, but it's not what she wanted. This wasn't her dream. She wanted to live by the ocean and study whales and dolphins. Instead, she's 37 years old and pigeonholed into a mediocre retail job, living 10 blocks from where she was born and married to a man who doesn't know she's there on the rare occasion that he is. It sucks, Mon."   
  
"Rachel, if you don't mind me asking, what brought all of this on?" Monica asked in a soothing tone that let Rachel know she was concerned and not annoyed. Rachel shrugged, fixing the nail-polish's cap back onto the bottle and throwing it into the bag of make-up that it had come from.   
  
"I think my parents are getting a divorce," she stated matter-of-factly, in a tone similar to the one she might use when giving a formal oral presentation for her English class. Her voice did not break. She didn't falter in the least. Monica, on the other hand, narrowed her eyes in disbelief.   
  
"What?" she whispered.   
  
"My dad packed a suitcase last week and walked out of the house the next morning like he was going to work. Only, he never came back. Amy overhead him saying something to my mom about 'a separation' and 'time to clear their heads'. That's not what he really meant, though. If my dad does something, he does it all the way. I'd be surprised if he even came back to say goodbye," Rachel declared. Monica moved closer to her friend and ran a sympathetic hand up her arm.   
  
"I'm really sorry, Rach. I had no idea."  
  
"Yeah, well, me neither," Rachel spoke somewhat bitterly, turning her head away. It was unclear if she was crying or not. There were no tears, but something in her voice was collapsing on top of itself.   
  
"Does Ross know?" Monica asked. She didn't know why she did. If Rachel had only found out a week before and hadn't even told her yet, she had no reason to believe that Ross would know. Rachel shook her head.   
  
"I haven't told him. I haven't told anyone. He'd just freak out, anyway. I know it's just because he cares so much, but I don't really need the pity brigade following me around right now. I don't think I could handle that."   
  
"Well," Monica offered, her tone of voice raising a little to something a bit more uplifting, "I say forget about it. Your parents are big kids and they know what's best for them. Maybe this is finally the thing that's going to make both of them happy." Monica realized that those words might have sounded unintentionally harsh, but Rachel didn't seem to take them as such.   
  
"Yeah, maybe," she sniffled. A few tears had finally gathered in the corners of her eyes, and she reached up to whip them away before they fell. "Whatever, I don't want to think about it anymore. Ross and Chandler are going to be here to pick us up in like 20 minutes. Let's go get ready."   
  
Monica reached her hand out to her friend and helped her up from the floor. Rachel crossed the room and disappeared into her connecting bathroom, leaving the door cracked. Monica stood alone in the room, surveying it, and she couldn't help but overhear all of the lies it was telling. The walls were green and covered with posters from all of Rachel's favorite bands. Expensive clothes littered the floor and hung down from doorknobs and opened drawers. Dozens of metals and trophies were lined across the bookshelf in the corner from the days of her diehard cheerleading. Monica took a deep breath, taking in the contents of a room that would never know it's keeper. Rachel was so much more than all of that. In fact, those things seemed foreign to the image of her best friend that Monica possessed. Pretty pink stuffed animals and flowery sheets seemed so far displaced as to be almost ironic in context of the type of person she knew Rachel to be. So strong, she thought. So brave, and it's all going to hell. The room's lies began to sting after too much longer, so Monica pursued Rachel to the bathroom and shut the door behind her, trapping inside all of the fraudulent ghosts that were forever haunting her best friend.   
  
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"There's a REASON you don't play football, Ross," Chandler pointed out, after having pitched the ball to his friend, only to watch him clumsily fumble it. Ross ran after the ball and retrieved it, winding it up and chucking it back at Chandler. It hit him square in the stomach.  
  
"Whoops," he chuckled.   
  
The four had arrived at the reservoir around an hour previously. It was set back into the woods a bit, at the end of a winding road that was blocked off by a gothic-looking steal gate. There was a large grassy bank leading up to the water, which was where the gang had chosen to set up. Chandler had brought several plastic lawn chairs and coolers full of soda. Ross brought his stereo and an old football. The girls sat on two of the lawn chairs and talked by the water while the guys tossed around the football.   
  
"I wonder when that Joey guy's going to get here," Chandler cogitated aloud to Ross.   
  
"I don't know," he huffed, rolling the football over in his hands and stretching his fingers across the leather. "Dude, I'm telling you, that guy's bad news. I mean, what kind of guy drives a Mustang, wears muscles shirts and leather jackets and ISN'T looking to score with another guy's girlfriend. It's like in the code book or something."   
  
"Don't you think you're overreacting just a tad?" Chandler asked, jumping up in the air to recover the especially high pass that Ross had just thrown. "Besides, even if he did have some intention of making a move, Rachel would deny him immediately. I don't think you have anything to worry about."   
  
Ross looked over at Rachel, who was sitting with her knees up under her chin in a white lawn chair down by the water. Even from where he was standing a few yards away, the familiar batting of her eyelashes and the enthusiastic gesticulations when she talked was unmistakable. She was wearing a simple white t-shirt and light jean shorts, and the fact that she was going barefoot made the whole outfit all that much more endearing. She could be wearing a sweat suit and she'd STILL take my breath away, he mused. For a moment, she let her hair down in order to put it back up again properly, and he was hypnotized by the way the long golden strands caught the last beams of dying sunlight.   
  
"Uh, Ross?" Chandler asked, smiling at his friend's secret indulgence that had not gone so secretively.   
  
"Yeah, sorry. I was just, um, thinking," Ross nodded, walking over to Chandler and placing the ball in his hands rather than throwing it to him. "Can I ask you something?"  
  
"Sure, anything."   
  
"Have you, uh, noticed anything different about Rachel lately? I mean, have you noticed her being, I don't know, more quiet than usual?" Ross gestured towards where she was sitting with his sister down by the water's edge. At the moment, she was laughing quite loudly at something Monica had just said, throwing her head back and grabbing her stomach.   
  
"No, not really. Why? Have you?" Chandler asked. Ross nodded, not looking away from her.   
  
"It's probably nothing. She's just seemed a little...sad, I guess. Maybe that's why I'm taking the Joey thing so hard. The fact that she's acting differently, paired with her sudden interest in this new guy, just kind of threw me off-guard. I'm just being paranoid, though, so forget I ever said anything."  
  
At that moment, as if on cue, that proverbial jet black Mustang roared up to where the two boys were standing. It's tires screeched when it came to a halt. Joey emerged, wearing a pair of swimming trunks and nothing else. Ross was less than pleased.   
  
"What's going on?" he asked, opening up his back door and pulling out 2 twelve-packs from the back seat. He held them up in the fashion of a peace offering, with one in each hand. "You guys got ice?"   
  
"Yeah, the coolers are right over there," Chandler answered, pointing to where the girls were sitting. "Make yourself at home."   
  
"Yeah, take whatever you'd like. You know, whatever you want, don't hesitate to just..." Ross paused, smiling smugly, "...SNATCH it right up." He snapped on the word "snatched" to accentuate his point. He wasn't surprised when Joey missed it completely.   
  
"Thanks!" he exclaimed, walking past them and making his way down to the girls. Ross watched him as he walked away.   
  
"Can you believe that? Swimming trunks. I should have figured. I bet he doesn't even have to work out, either. There's probably something in the Italian blood that just MAKES you look like that." Ross had definitely surpassed the enragement stage and was rapidly picking up steam on his way to chronic self-pity.   
  
"Look, dude," Chandler said, placing his hand on Ross' shoulder, "you know what Rachel sees when she looks at him?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Probably about the same thing she sees when she looks at me. Make you feel any better?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, sort of, actually," Ross kidded, patting his friend on the back in appreciation. "Thanks for putting up with all my shit, man. I know I'm being a real girl about all of this."  
  
"No problem," Chandler nodded. "Now, you'd better score tonight, or that title is going to stick."  
  
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Another 30 minutes or so after Joey's arrival, Phoebe pulled up in a van filled with 5 of her friends. She introduced them as being Marcy (whom Chandler had previously dated), Gary, Daniel, Frank and Carlie. Rachel immediately recognized Gary as the one who she'd been playing Hacky Sack with in the courtyard earlier that day. After the beer, chairs and CD's that they brought were unloaded, the gathering really picked up. The sun had long since vanished, and stars were just beginning to unveil themselves in the expanse of summer sky. Music was blasting, people were laughing and talking, and some had even started dancing.   
  
Through all of the commotion, Ross had noticed Rachel sitting alone down by the water. She was on the edge of a small dock with her legs dangling down in the water. He wandered away from the conversation he'd been having with Chandler and Frank about the colleges they were looking at and made his way down the small grassy hill to where she was sitting. He took the seat beside her, rolled up his pants legs and sunk his feet into the cold liquid.   
  
"You know," he began, "people are eventually going to be drinking this stuff." He motioned towards their feet, making her grin weakly. He scooted a little closer, sliding a hand over her back.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked concernedly.   
  
"Nothing," she replied. He knew all along that would be her answer. He had never asked her what was wrong without her answering in that way. She was far too stubborn to get straight to the point, he thought fondly.   
  
"Don't say that. I know you better than that," he coaxed, rubbing circles over her back with his hand. She allowed herself to lean into his body weight and rest her head against his shoulder.   
  
"I know you do."  
  
"So..." he urged, begging her to continue. She sighed deeply and licked her lips.   
  
"I don't know, to tell you the truth. Everything lately has seemed so...fucked up." He was somewhat staggered at her harsh choice of words, but he found himself only tightening his grip around her.   
  
"Tell me about it," he asked, using the term as it's literal meaning.   
  
"A lot of things are just getting put into perspective, I guess. I really opened up on Monica the other night after we got back from the club about how sometimes I feel like more of a possession than a real person. Then, I broke down again this afternoon in front of her because of my parents," she revealed. She regretting it immediately. She didn't want him to know. She didn't want him to pity her. Surprisingly, though, that wasn't the part he chose to focus on.   
  
"I make you feel like a possession?" he asked feebly. She turned under his arm, looking him in the face.   
  
"Oh, no, honey. I didn't mean you. If anything, you're the only one keeping me sane. I just meant...well, I guess I'm starting to realize my real reasons for quitting the cheerleading squad. Being wanted isn't always a good thing."  
  
"I'm not sure I understand."  
  
"It's kind of like," she started, trying her best to explain, "this water. It's shiny and inviting on the surface, and everyone looking at it admirers it and wants to dive in. The only problem is that it's murky and impossible to see what's at the bottom. For all anyone knows, it's only 4 feet deep the whole way across. They might dive in a break their necks on the rocks." She looked a Ross to see if he was understanding. He clearly was not. She began again.   
  
"No one cares what's underneath, Ross, because the point isn't to ACTUALLY dive in. It's the desire to do it. It's the fantasy of it. What's on the bottom has no significance to you or me, because all we want this reservoir for is to dip our feet into it and stare longingly."   
  
"You're the reservoir in this analogy, right?" he asked innocently, earning him a sympathetic chuckle from Rachel. He was trying his hardest to understand her point. "I'm really bad with metaphors."  
  
"Yes. I'm the reservoir." She looked directly into his eyes as she said it, deepening it's impact.   
  
"You think that no one sees you?" he asked, staring back with an equal caliber of intensity. She sighed again and turned her gaze away from him to look out over the breadth of water.  
  
"I think that no one has seen me in a very long time," she reflected, somewhat vaguely. She wasn't facing him, so she didn't catch the look of twisted pain on his face from that piece of his heart that broke ever so slightly from her words. He reached up his with left hand and turned her chin to face him. He brushed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.   
  
"I see you." He smiled, hoping that those words were enough. He alone had sufficed to mend her heart very few times during their relationship, but he had always been okay with this. Loving her came with the small price of knowing that she could take care of herself and yield her own pain. If for just a moment in time, though, her heart could forget how brave she was, maybe he could be enough for her, just this once.   
  
She smiled, bringing her hand up to cover his. He leaned in, kissing her lips just firmly enough so that she knew it was there before he broke it. Then, he rose to his feet. Without thinking, because he had done enough of that already that evening, he bent his knees, swung back his arms, and pushed his momentum forward, sailing right off the dock. He jumped up, bending at the top of his arch and diving in headfirst. He pierced through the surface with a flawless precision, causing only a small ripple of waves. Rachel panicked for a moment, having not seem it coming. She rose quickly to her feet, prepared to jump in after him. Before she could react, though, his head had already emerged from the water. He was a good 15 feet out when he resurfaced, his hair shaggy and damp and sticking out in every direction. He smiled at her proudly, knowing that he had proved a point to her that night. He would not ever say anything of his gesture. He would never verbalize what a grand monument it had served to his feelings for her. He let the action speak for itself, and as he waded in the water, he caught a glimpse of her smile through the night. He had dived in.   
  
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End Chapter 5. Continued in Chapter 6. 


	7. Chapter 7: Nightswimming II

Title: Nightswimming II  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M\  
  
I ended up bringing my laptop to NYC with me. My sister and I've decided to stay in tonight, and she thought it'd be fun to help me with this chapter! We're making an evening of it :-) If you like it, then yay for a team effort! If not...then the parts you dislike were her ideas ;-)  
  
Also, just as a disclaimer of sorts, I'm not as good at writing Chandler and Monica as Ross and Rachel. I like them together, but I'm not as into them on the actual show. By all means, though, if you are an avid Chandler/Monica fan and you can think of any way in which I can improve my portrayal of them, let me know.   
  
This section is rated R. For those of you who've read previous stories of mine and subsequently their R-rated chapters, this one is more so than any of those. I mean it this time. Not for the kiddies. Come on, you've got me, my sister and a bottle of Tequila! What do you expect!? :) Trust me, though, it was all pre-devised and serves a VERY important function in chapters to come. You should know my policy by now: no gratuitousness!  
  
The next update probably won't be for another week or so.   
  
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"Hey, have you seen Ross and Rachel lately?" Monica asked. She was standing in a small circle with Chandler and Joey, taking sips from her beer and trying not to look too disgusted. She's never really cared for the stuff that much. On the occasions that she did drink, she preferred wine. Joey cocked his head to the side, gesturing over to the lake that was now completely obscured by the blackness of the night.   
  
"He followed her down there like an hour ago. I wonder what they could be doing," he submitted, lifting a sarcastic eyebrow and sharing a secret chuckle with Chandler. Monica was not amused.   
  
"No, I don't think so."   
  
"You're telling me they haven't yet?" Chandler asked, looking genuinely surprised. Monica's face showed equal disbelief.   
  
"You and Ross don't talk about that kind of stuff?" she asked.   
  
"Well, yeah, and he always tells me that they haven't, but I kind of figured that was just his way of protecting her or something. So they REALLY haven't?"   
  
"Nope," Monica confirmed, shaking her head. "She says she's not ready, and I say good for her."   
  
"Heh?" Chandler asked, his face gleaming with the classic deer-in-headlights look. "You're, uh, you're saying that you don't think they should have sex? Even after 6 months?"   
  
"EVEN after 6 months?" Monica asked, looking slightly appalled. "You think 6 months is a lot to have not had sex? They're not grown, you know. They ARE still just in high school." Monica crossed her arms over her chest, suddenly getting very defensive.   
  
"Woah, calm down. I know that, it's just that...well...Ross IS going to college next year. I know he loves her and everything, but I just think that a relationship as serious as theirs would be hard to...sustain in a situation like that if there weren't some sort of...incentive there..." he trailed off on the end, realizing that no matter what he said, he was going to come off sounding like a jackass. From the look Monica was giving him, she obvious agreed. All the while, Joey was keeping quiet, content to listen to these two almost-strangers fight like an old married couple.   
  
"You don't even know what you're talking about. I've never seen anyone our age love someone else the way they love each other. I know my brother, and he'd never expect ANYTHING from her that she wasn't ready for. You know, just because you're too immature to understand that a relationship doesn't always have to be..."  
  
"Woah, Monica, calm down! Look, that's not what I meant. Forget I said it, okay? I know that Ross cares about her. He may be your brother, but he's me best friend. I know how much he loves her. I don't want you to think that's the way my mind works. It's not." Chandler's hands were out in front of him as a defense mechanism. Monica nodded, uncrossing her arms and lessening the rigid stance that she was in a bit.   
  
"Yeah, okay. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusion. That's not how...I mean, I don't think..." She was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that it was Chandler she was talking to. For a moment, she couldn't believe that she had actually yelled at him. He felt slightly embarrassed until he reached out and touched her arm, smiling lightly.   
  
"I know it's not. You're just very protective of your best friend. It's okay, I understand." The situation turned on a dime from being very tense and unyielding to being quite the opposite. Joey was becoming a little uncomfortable.   
  
"Hey, so, uh, anyone want another beer? I'm going to go get one." They both shook their heads, still not taking their eyes away from the other's gaze.   
  
"Hey, you wouldn't want to...I mean, you don't want to go on a walk or something, do you?" Chandler asked. Monica immediately noticed how shy and hesitant the question had come out, and it made her smile. She was glad to see that she was making him just as nervous as he was making her. She nodded and reached for his hand, taking it in hers.   
  
"I'd love to."  
  
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"I've got it," he offered, bending down over the cooler and retrieving two beers. It wasn't until Joey looked up that he saw just who he was talking to. She was tall, blonde and gorgeous. That was really all that registered with him. The moon was casting a soft light across her face, adding an innocent yet fiery quality to her. She smiled and whispered "thanks", taking the iced drink that he'd extended to her from his hand.   
  
"Uh, I'm, er, my name's..."   
  
"Joey. I know," she finished for him, nodding and smiling. "I've seen you around at school."  
  
"Really? Well then, what's your name?" he asked, putting on the 'Joey charm' and winking provocatively at her.   
  
"Phoebe," she answered, her voice going velvety and flat. She was wearing a dark brown halter-top with some sort of Indian print on it and long khaki pants that started low on her hips. Her eyes were a deep chocolaty color in contrast to the long locks of gold that flowed from her head.   
  
"That's pretty," he replied, smiling flirtatiously. How had he not noticed this girl earlier in the evening? She stuck out like a sore thumb in comparison to all the others. There was definitely something special about her that he couldn't quite put his finger on. He was going to dedicate the rest of the evening to figuring it out, though.  
  
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"You have nice hands," she whispered, playing with the long elegant fingers of his right hand with both of hers where it rested on her stomach. She was laying on her back with her head on his chest and her feet sticking straight out in front of her. They formed a "T" in the grass beside the reservoir, and they'd been like that for almost an hour. The water was still soaking through his clothes, but she didn't mind.   
  
"Thanks," he answered softly, tucking his left hand behind his head to rest on. They'd been looking up at the stars, but secretly, he'd just been staring at her. He couldn't take his eyes off her the entire night. It was bordering on physical impossibility. Part of him thought it might have been because of the whole Joey thing, and he was just feeling more protective and insecure than usual. I knew could never accurately explain it to her, but it was hard for him to see other guys blatantly coming onto her or checking her out as she passed by. He was fully aware of how adorable and sexy she was, she part of him thought at least once a day of how inadequate he was for her. She deserves someone better than me, he thought. She deserves someone with more charisma- someone who turns heads just as like she does. He saw that charisma in Joey, and that's part of what threatened him so much about the new mysterious Italian.   
  
"What?" she asked, having realized that he hadn't said anything in quite a while. Uh oh, he thought. Busted.   
  
"Nothing, I was just...uh..."   
  
"Admiring the view?" she teasingly asked, entirely aware that the front of her white t-shirt was soaked through from when she'd hugged him earlier. He blushed slightly. He wasn't sure why.   
  
"You caught me," he admitted, though that hadn't been all he was staring at. His eyes had moved throughout the evening from the smooth expanse of skin stretched over he shoulders, to the valley between her breasts, to the tight flat plain of her stomach, to her thighs and toes. She'd been going sans shoes, and he wasn't at all embarrassed to admit that even her feet turned him on. He couldn't get enough of her. He was drinking her in through every orifice in his body.   
  
"Ross..." she whispered, suddenly becoming very serious.   
  
"Yeah?" he asked, watching her play with his hand as his fingertips occupied themselves along the waistline of her shorts.   
  
"You know I'm attracted to you, right? I mean, you know you don't have anything to worry about?" She was still just gazing down at where his hand was on her stomach, examining it as she turned it over in hers. She didn't turn her head around to look at him, but she knew that her question had probably confused him.   
  
"Now I do," he answered softly, in a bashful tone that made her heart wrench. She couldn't believe he had never known. What had he thought for all this time?   
  
"Good," she stated dryly, squeezing his hand tightly to affirm that she meant it. "Because I know how you are, Ross. I know that you get an idea in your head and you just run with it, like you probably did with the idea that I was attracted to Joey. The truth is, though, I don't see anything when I look at him. Yeah, guys flirt with me from time to time, but I want you to just drop any of these ideas you have about me just deciding one day that I'd rather be with someone else. I don't make promises that I'm not sure I can keep, but I WILL promise you that I've never been as attracted to someone- physically OR mentally- as I am to you. Never."   
  
"Wow, uh, I don't know what to say." And he didn't. He hadn't at all seen that coming. "I mean, I'm not going to lie, Rachel. I see the way guys look at you. Whether it's with good intentions or not, I see the way they stare at you and elbow their jackass friends as you walk past. Even when I'm standing right there- even when I have my arm around you- they still do it. I can only let that kind of thing roll off my back so many times. I can't pretend forever like I don't get insecure. I mean, you're hot!" This last part was said rather flamboyantly, causing Rachel to smirk and giggle a little, which eased the mounting tension.   
  
"Well you are!" he exclaimed, smiling himself this time. Then, he pressed his hand flat across her stomach and pushed down firmly in a gesture that told her he was about to become serious and wanted her to listen to everything he was going to say. "And that intimidates me, sometimes. You intimidate me sometimes, Rach. I need you so goddamn badly I can't breath, and that can scare the hell out of a guy. That DOES scare the hell out of me, and the thought that one day you might decide that some new guy's got something that I don't...well, that scares me, too. I don't have the kickass car, or the cool shades, or the suave lines. The only thing I have to go on here is the fact that every morning I wake up and think 'my god, I'm with Rachel', and the fact that that one thought keeps me going through the day. That's really all I've got, and the thought of you deciding that it's not enough..."  
  
"Shut up, Ross, and just kiss me." Before he knew it, she had turned around completely and had crawled on top of him. She let all of her weight press into him and tangled her hands through his hair. Instinctively, his hands went to her waist. They traveled frantically up and down her back, down to cup her ass, and back up into her hair. Their kisses were rushed and deep, and he broke away a few times to kiss her jaw and neck.   
  
She moaned slightly when he lifted his hips up into her and an especially sensitive area pressed into her stomach. She bend her legs and let them slide down his sides so that she was straddling his hips, but she did not sit up for fear of breaking the kiss. When his hands moved down to take permanent resident on her ass and he pushed her down into his increasingly hard groin, he was caught by surprise and gasped. He broke the kiss and a look of utter terror crossed his face.   
  
"Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't..." he began, but she placed her pointer finger over his lips. His breathing was erratic, but he closed his mouth instantly.   
  
"No, it's okay. It's okay," she cooed. She smiled weakly and shook her head. She could tell he was embarrassed from the way he was blushing and back-peddling. Even his hands were shaking, and they'd never done that before. Something about this scenario made him even more nervous than usual, and she wasn't sure what it was.   
  
"Are you alright?" she asked.   
  
"Yeah, I'm, uh...I'm fine. I mean, I'm more than fine, really. I mean, you're...How couldn't I..." he stuttered, trying to find the right words to cushion this touchy situation. "Shit, um...is it okay i we just keep going?" he asked again, swallowing hardly and scared to death that she might say 'no'. Instead, she smiled and nodded.   
  
"Yes," she whispered. "Keep going." He bent down and their dance continued. He assaulted her with his tongue and hands, instinctively rocking his hips up into her. With every thrust, she could feel it pressing against his jeans and her stomach. With a steadier hand than usual for this situation, she reached down between them and found the cold metal button of his jeans. From just this isolated act, he moaned into her mouth from deep in his throat. She lifted his shirt and let her hand graze his stomach before dipping down into his boxers. He grabbed her wrist suddenly to stop her.  
  
"Hey, you don't have to," he murmured into her ear. She nodded.   
  
"I know..." She proceeded, anyway. As soon as she was holding him in her hand, he jerked his hips abruptly up and bit into her shoulder.   
  
"You okay?" she asked for the second time that evening. He mentally kicked himself for making her feel like she was babysitting him. Why was this time so much different? They had done this dozens of times. Why was he so nervous and eager?  
  
"Yeah...God, I'm sorry. You're just...uh...REALLY good at this, is all" he managed to chuckle out, gripping her shoulders for leverage as he held the upper half of his body up. The muscles in his stomach contracted and Rachel pressed her hand flat against his torso to feel them momentarily and patted his chest before continuing. After a few even strokes, he had to grab her hand and remove it from his pants.   
  
"I'm going to...I mean, I'm close..."She smiled. For whatever reason, he was incapable of finishing his sentences tonight. Knowing that it was because of her made her feel special. She nodded and slid off of him, but that something that had been left unfinished from her new angle beside him on the ground. She grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him over to lay on top of her. He rested the lower half of his body over hers, but provided support for himself with his bend arms on either side of head. With her hands firm on his waist, they proceeded in their kissing. Slowly, he slid a shaky hand up her stomach and underneath her shirt. He stroked and grasped everything he could with no rhyme or rhythm about it. His head was too far into the clouds and his heart was racing entirely too fast to think maintain any sort of composure or control. His actions and kisses were rushed, but she was keeping her pace with him, and bent her knees to cradle his body between them.   
  
She felt his other hand move down between them to the metal teeth of her zipper. Her heart clenched for a moment and she felt herself break out into a small sweat. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that his pants were still unzipped and a certain part of him still very upright. Her body was telling her that this felt good, though, and she didn't want to stop. It was Ross, and she could never feel as safe with anyone as she did with him.   
  
Her name poured in steady streams from his lips, dripping down his chin and onto her skin. She felt the pressure of his kneading hands underneath her shirt and a firmness that pressed continuously and firmly into her underwear. Then, time stopped when he hooked one finger underneath her panties and pulled them to the side. Her breath caught in her throat, and he felt it, causing him to cease all of his motions.  
  
"Rachel..." he pleased, breathing heavily into her ear. "Tell me if it's okay." He said it like a 5-year-old boy begging for a before-dinner treat. His voice was small and more unsure than she'd ever heard it. And that scared her.   
  
"I..." she began, her mouth standing agape as she waited for the words to come. "I..." she started again, hoping that she would suddenly be able to open up the flood gate and all of the thousands of explanations she was looking for would come rushing out in a title wave. No such luck. Instead, she panicked and threw him off of her in one involuntary shove.   
  
She flew up, frantically buttoning her pants and straightening her shirt and hair. For as hard as she'd been breathing before, she was now gasping for breath. Meanwhile, a very confused and scared Ross quickly tucked himself back into his pants and before burying his face in his hands and allowing himself to fall backwards onto the dirt on his back. He ran his hands over his face and up through his hair.  
  
"Jesus, Rachel, I'm sorry. I'm such a fucking idiot." He shot up after a moment and slid over next to her, touching her arm softly. She didn't flinch at his touch, which he took as a sign. "God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I don't know what I was thinking, I just..." he rambled. She cut him off before too long.   
  
"No, no, it's okay. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do anything wrong," she assured, surprising both of them by crawling between his legs. She burrowed herself against his chest and he supported both of their weights, enveloping her in a tight hug and pulling her into him. He rested his chin on her head and kissed her hair. They sat like that for a long while, and he rocked both of them back and forth.  
  
"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry," he continued to apologize. He felt a sickness in the pit of his stomach. There was a deep, dark void there that seemed to be sucking at all of his insides. He thought he was going to be sick, but he just sat there and rocked their bodies together. I don't deserve to still be touching her, he thought. I don't know why she's letting me hold her.   
  
"I'm sorry, too," she whispered, grasping and clawing at his shirt and chest. Silent tears fell from her eyes, but she didn't cry. She didn't know what had come over her. All she knew was that she loved him more than ever for how sorry he'd been, and part of her wished that she had never stopped it at all. Now, with the security of his strong arms around her, she wasn't sure why she had.  
  
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End Chapter 7. Continued in Chapter 8. 


	8. Chapter 8: Nightswimming III

Title: Nightswimming III  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
Alright guys, time for the last installment of the "Nightswimming" miniseries. This chapter will conclude all of the events of the reservoir party. I wish I could say it will tie up all the loose ends, too, but that might be a lie :-)  
  
I'm back from NYC and no longer in the presence of my sister, so there will be no more double-teaming of the chapters. Sorry! Maybe I can live up to her standards on my own at a later time.   
  
Someone mentioned in a review that Monica and Chandler would probably be doing more than just "holding hands", but my goal for their relationship up until this point has actually been to keep it more ambiguous. It will kind of open up in this chapter and the ones to come, though. They might not have any scenes like the one between Ross and Rachel in the last chapter :-), but I don't think the Monica/Chandler fans will have anything to complain about. If you do, don't hesitate, though. Just tell me what you want to read and I'll try to implement it.   
  
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"So, tell me about your childhood," Chandler implored of her, taking a final sip from his beer before tossing the red plastic cup into the dense thicket of woods that surrounded the path they were walking on. They'd been walking for about 20 minutes, and they were now completely out of view from the hill the party was taking place on. The moon shown overhead, big and round and casting shadows over the ground. Their hands were still entwined and they walked slowly.   
  
"Well," she began, trying to think of a tactful way of beefing up a not-so-eventful past. "Up until high school, I had a not-so-great childhood."   
  
"Really?" he asked, looking up from the ground and over at her, obviously very shocked at this revelation. "I kind of thought, judging from what I know about Ross, that you guys had a painfully normal childhood. Or is that what was wrong with it?"  
  
"I guess it was that...combined with the whole weight thing." She bit her lip, praying not to regret opening up this can of worms.   
  
"What weight thing?" he asked, squeezing her hand a bit once he saw how nervous she was.   
  
"I used to be pretty big. It wasn't usually a big deal, but I got made fun of a lot. Ross sure didn't make it any easier on me. It was just typical bullying stuff, but it wasn't until after I lost it all that I realized how much it hurt me sometimes." She took a deep breath. There, she'd done it. She'd told him possibly the most embarrassing and traumatic thing about her past and she just hoped to God now for the best. She hoped that he wouldn't judge or make fun of her. When he didn't say anything for a few moments, she looked over at him, her eyes searching for what he wasn't saying.   
  
"You think I'm an idiot now, don't you?" she asked. He smiled widely, chuckling and stopping their progressive walk to stand in the forest with her.   
  
"You're adorable. Why would I think that?" She couldn't help but smile at the sincerity of his question.   
  
"Forget it," she whispered, shaking her head and unable to conceal the huge smile that was not creeping across her face. "Most people kind of make fun of that story."  
  
"Well, I'm not one of them." He took one of the hands that was holding both of hers and raised it to her chin, pushing up on it to make her eyes meet with his. His heart was beating out of his chest and his palms were sweaty, but he was absolutely lost in her eyes. He went for it. Slowly and softly, he placed a gentle kiss on her lips. When he pulled back, her eyes were still closed.   
  
"I hope that was okay," he whispered, making it into more of a question than a statement. She opened her eyes.   
  
"Yeah," she nodded, smiling. "It was definitely okay."  
  
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"Do you want to leave now?" he asked, still holding her tightly against his chest. He could feel her hot tears burning against the skin on his arm as they fell, one by one, from her eyes. He didn't know exactly when she'd begun crying and her sobs had remained silent, but her body shook occasionally with a heavy jerk, causing him to only tighten his hold around her. She nodded.  
  
"Okay," he whispered, not knowing how he felt about her answer. He was absolutely numb. He had never hated himself this much in his life. He never thought something as simple as touching her would lead to something like this. He was the older one- he was the guy. He was supposed to know his limits- their limits- and he hadn't. He'd kept going, fueled by something deep inside him that burned- ached- to be closer to her. Instead, he'd ripped himself from her like a dead appendage.   
  
He got up from the dirt, extending his hand and helping her to her feet. They walked up the side of the hill together but didn't touching. Her arms were folded defensively across her chest and she stared at the ground the entire way. Tears still fell silently from her cheeks, but her face was stoic. He stuffed his hands deeply into his pockets, wishing that he could cut them off completely. He felt dirty, and no amount of washing or showering could help. When they got to the top of the hill, he wordlessly handed her his car keys and went to go find Chandler. When he could not, he settled for Joey.   
  
"Hey, have you seen Chandler?" he asked, noticing for the first time that Phoebe was sitting on his lap.   
  
"No, man, I haven't. He walked into the woods with Monica like half an hour ago."   
  
"What?" Ross asked, his voice fluctuating for the first time. "My- my sister Monica? Chandler took her into the woods?"   
  
"Yeah. I didn't think you'd mind. I mean, you'd been gone with Rachel for like ever. I thought you had more important things to be worrying about," he grinned, arching an eyebrow. Ross wanted to throw up.   
  
"Fine. Uh, when they come back, tell them I took Rachel home." He turned to leave, jamming his hands back into his pockets. He picked his hooded sweatshirt up from the ground by Joey's feet and put it on, pulling the hood up over his head to cancel out the cold and to conceal the look of disgust that he was sure now clouded his eyes.   
  
"Hey, man, are you alright?" Joey asked after him.   
  
"I'm fine," he answered, not even bothering to turn around. He walked towards the car, noticing that Rachel was already seated in the passenger's seat. She was staring blankly and torpidly into the space in front of her. Her arms were still crossed and her cheeks still tear-streaked. He closed his eyes tightly and wasn't surprised when a drop of liquid fell to the ground.   
  
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"So your dad really left your mom for the pool boy?" she asked, trying desperately to muffle her laughter. She failed.   
  
"It's okay," he surrendered. "You can laugh. I've pretty much gotten used to it. Besides, I'm going off to college next year, so it's not like it's going to be in my face all the time."   
  
"Oh," Monica paused. "Right...college." She nodded, tightening her lips.   
  
"Yeah, I think I'm going to NYU," Chandler added, hoping that would ease the awkward tension. They'd only met a few weeks before and their first kiss had just taken place that night, but the thought of him leaving still added a damp dreariness to the conversation. At the mention of NYU, Monica's eyes lit up.   
  
"Really? So you'll- you'll be staying here?" she asked hopefully. Chandler nodded and smiled.   
  
"Yup, that's the plan But hey, you have to promise to come visit, alright? Long Island and Manhattan are far too close for you to have an excuse not to," he teased, lightening the uncomfortable situation.   
  
"I don't think that should be a problem," she played along, flashing him an enormous, toothy smile. He stopped again and took both of her hands in his.   
  
"Hey, it's getting kind of late. Do you think maybe we should head back?" he asked. She looked disappointed, but then her face lit up.   
  
"Well, yeah, but do you want to maybe...come back to my house afterwards? We could just, you know, finish our talk and stuff. That is, if you want to," she added, not wanting to push things too much. She was having the most wonderful time talking to him, though, and she didn't want it to end. Everything was so relaxed between them, and he seemed to understand everything she said. What was more, he seemed to actually care.   
  
"Lead the way," he joked, smiling and waiting for her to turn back and begin walking towards the party and his car.  
  
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Ross pulled the car up to her house and stopped, turning the engine off but keeping the car on. The radio was turned on low and could just faintly be heard over their collective breathing. Neither said anything, but Rachel also didn't move to exit the car. Let this be over seen, Ross thought to himself. Part of him wanted her to get out of the car and run into her house so that he would no longer have to withstand the sweet torture of being in her presence tonight. Another part was almost content to stay there, on the verge of tears and hating himself, just to be close to her.   
  
"Here you go," he stated flatly, looking down at his lap rather than over at her. Her only response was to turn her attention from the windshield to the side window. Her hands remained folded in her lap. This is torture, he thought. This is absolute, unadulterated, straight-from-the-realms-of-Hell torture. And still, he reveled in it like it was as precious as his last breath.   
  
"Ross..." she started, looking over at him and causing him to snap his head up to meet her glance. Now, it was his cheeks that were tear-stained. Upon seeing this, she let her head fall to the side in heartbreak.   
  
"Don't do that," she pleaded, shaking her head. "Don't cry." She reached over and placed one of her hands on top of his, squeezing it. He sniffled a little, directly all of his efforts at halting his tears. He was unsuccessful, but he turned his face away from her so she wouldn't know. She did anyway.   
  
"Ross," she began again, "you didn't do anything wrong. Please, don't be upset." Her voice was small and tired and wisps of her hair hung slackly from the loose bun that had fallen down to the base of her neck. He turned to look at her and noticed, for the first time, just how defeated she looked. She had no strength for this and yet he was squeezing it from her- simultaneously robbing her of her vigor and himself of his dignity. How much could he steal from her in one night?  
  
"Rachel, I'd give you just about anything you wanted right now, but I can't give you that. Don't ask me not to be upset." Feeling a wave of abhorrence hit him like a tsunami, he took his hand from beneath hers and placed it with his other on the steering wheel, gripping down with all of his strength and turning his knuckles white. He clenched his jaw.   
  
"Ross, I told you that you didn't do anything wrong. I meant it."  
  
"I promised myself I would never do that," he stated, outwardly randomly. She furrowed her brow, not following him.   
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Take advantage of you...let things go too far." He took his stern gaze from the road in front of them and turned to look at her again. He seemed unaffected and cold but he needed to see her face.   
  
"Ross, you didn't take advantage of me!" She raised her voice, becoming increasingly frustrated. He didn't fight back, though. Instead, he shook his head and looked back down into his lap. He swallowed, choosing his words carefully.   
  
"Then why did you stop?" he asked tentatively. He regretted it almost instantly. He had no right to ask her that. He had to know, though. If he hadn't done anything wrong, then what was wrong with him? What was wrong with them? She sighed and he was more relieved than he'd ever been when her reply didn't come in the form of a slamming door.   
  
"I don't know..." she answered honestly, her voice trailing off, "but it's not because I don't love you." At this, he looked up into her eyes. The car was enveloped in utter silence for a moment, save for the quiet murmur of the radio. It was a song that he faintly recognized but had never really heard the words until that moment.  
  
We struggle here   
  
but all our love's in vain   
  
And these eyes that once filled me with your beauty   
  
Now fill me with pain   
  
And the light that once entered here   
  
Is banished from me   
  
And this darkness is all baby   
  
that my heart sees   
  
"Stop it, Ross," she ordered sternly, intimidating him without even raising her voice. "I know what you're doing and just stop it. Look," she took his hand firmly in both of hers and pulled it over to rest it in her lap. "You didn't do ANYTHING wrong tonight. Whatever happened ONLY happened because I wanted it to, okay? I know you think that you have some sort of obligation to protect me, but you don't. I can take care of myself and I'm the only one responsible for the decisions I make..." she paused and waited for him to nod before she finished.   
  
"Tonight," she continued, "my decision was to have sex with you. Not because I felt pressured or because I got caught up in the moment, but because I wanted to. I love you and I wanted to." She waited for this to sink in with him. "I don't know what came over me. I panicked, okay? I- I can't explain it. I don't even understand it. The only thing I know is that I love you very much and never meant for this to hurt you. I never meant to cause you any pain. I'm sorry."  
  
He smiled weakly at her, surprised in himself when he discovered that her speech had actually helped ease his conscience and his heart. She drew him to her, pulling his head to rest against his chest and stroking his hair. She kissed the top of his head and wrapped her arms around him.  
  
"Do you want to come stay with me tonight?" she asked softly, resting her cheek on the top of his head. He moved back to look at her, his eyes asking a million hushed questions.   
  
"Aren't your parents home?" he beseech, though that was not even on the top 10 list of the things he'd really been wondering about her suggestion. She shook her head.   
  
"No, they're gone for the weekend. Come on," she urged, squeezing his hand once more and opening the door to exit the car. She hadn't given him much time to think, so he simply shut the car off and followed her inside the house.   
  
When they got inside, she took his hand and led him up to her room. Not bothering to turn on a light, she stripped right in front of him. He sat down at the giant beanbag chair in the corner, watching her as she walked completely nude and uninhibited around her room, searching for pajamas. He smiled, admiring her and feeling the disgust and self-loathing melt away. She put on a pair of cotton underwear and a small white t-shirt before climbing into bed. Before she pulled up the covers, though, she met his gaze from across the room.   
  
"Aren't you coming?" she asked. He looked down and realized that he was still completely dressed and hadn't even moved to be otherwise. He quickly stripped down to his boxers and climbed into the bed beside her, pulling the covers up over them both. She turned to face him and buried her head in his chest, interlacing her legs with his and wrapping both of her arms around his middle. He was surprised at how forward she was being when "the incident" had just occurred not an hour previously.   
  
"I love you," she whispered into his neck. "I love you so very, very much." He couldn't really tell, but he sensed something sad in her voice, almost as if she were actually trying to convince him of this. He wrapped his arms tightly around her back and waist and dug his nose into her hair, kissing her forehead.   
  
"I know," he assured her, letting her know that he had heard everything she'd said. "I know you do." He waited for a few more moments before adding "and I'll wait for you forever."  
  
Upon hearing his words, she determinedly placed both of her hands on his back and squeezed him firmly into her. She kissed his neck in soft, butterfly kisses that he just barely felt before drifting off to sleep.  
  
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End Chapter 8. Continued In Chapter 9. 


	9. Chapter 9: The Quiet Things

Title: The Quiet Things  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
Sorry it's been so long since I updated. I received a few emails asking when the next chapter would be installed, and the answer is now :-)   
  
I'm going to try REALLY hard to include some Monica/Chandlerage. Bare with me still, people. They're not my forte- Ross and Rachel are, obviously. If Monica and Chandler see rushed then I'm sorry. I'm trying here :-)  
  
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"Do you want anything to drink?" she asked, getting up from the couch and crossing the living room into the kitchen.   
  
When they'd exited the woods that night, Joey told them that Ross had taken Rachel home minutes before, essentially leaving then stranded. After cleaning up, they'd hitched a ride in Phoebe's van, accompanied in the back seat by at least half a dozen of her more-than-suspect groupies. They'd finally arrived at Monica's around 3 am, though, and had somehow managed to stealthily sneak in through a downstairs window under her parent's radar. They were now watching TV in the Geller living room, pretending not to be affected by their solitude and close proximity and furtively fidgeting at the other's every move.   
  
"Yeah, I'll have some water. I think I drank a little too much tonight," he added, only slurring his speech together slightly. Monica smiled and retrieved two waters from the refrigerator before rejoining him on the couch. It wasn't until then that Chandler noticed Ross' absence.   
  
"Hey, did you notice that it was like 3 am? Ross isn't home yet," he noted. Monica looked around, almost as if she didn't believe him.   
  
"Yeah, you're right. Maybe he slept over at Rachel's," she suggested, smiling insinuatingly. She knew that they'd done that on several previous occasions. She couldn't help but be both amazed and slightly jealous that they'd never been caught. She just knew that the second she ever tried to pull something like that, her parents would find out and she'd be grounded until graduation.   
  
She suddenly became very aware of the fact that Chandler had slid his hand over the back of the couch and his fingers were now softly stroking the skin of her shoulder.   
  
"So, uh, what do you think they're doing then if they don't have sex?" Chandler asked, trying failingly to scoot nearer to her without her noticing. She was very aware, however, and she could feel her heart speeding up. Before she knew it, his leg was pressed up right against hers. She answered with a silent shake of her head.   
  
"Oh, hm, I don't know. She's told me before that they just fall asleep with each other. She says it's, you know, comforting and stuff." Okay, his nose was DEFINITELY nuzzling his ear now. She wasn't sure that he'd heard everything she'd just said. SHE couldn't even remember everything she'd just said. His breath was hot, though, and that was about the only thing she knew in that moment.   
  
She did not anticipate the first kiss. It had not been proceeded by an especially memorable or romantic line like she'd been used to seeing in the movies. His breath smelled faintly of alcohol and his hands were shaking with all the combined nervousness of 20 hormonal adolescents. There was no romantic music, but rather a grainy infomercial hosted by a too-tan, middle-aged man flashing across the television screen in front of them. It was nothing like how she imagined it would be when they finally crossed that line between innocent kisses between friends and unmistakable intimacy between two people who were rapidly becoming more.   
  
They kissed long into the night on that couch, totally unaffected by the flickering of the sad and lonely characters across the silver screen and completely unaware of their surroundings. When it was time to say goodnight from fear that her parents would discover them, he found it surprisingly hard to leave. He had known all along that Monica was far too special and respectable to just use her as another means of getting some action, but even after they'd spent a night and morning together, he was aching inside to be closer to her. After kissing her cheek and climbing out of the first-floor window, he contemplated during his walk home about just how he was going to do that.   
  
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One day and a lifetime away, he left her sleeping in bed to go jogging at dawn. Even though the entire night had been in upheaval, he clung to that old habit to comfort himself.  
  
Jogging was a way for him to get away and think, because the moving of his muscles as they pounded again the pavement was such a constant- so automatic- that he didn't need to waste any of his concentration on it at all. His thoughts that morning keep returning to the one thing he couldn't tell her. Though he told her that he understood and respected her decision, privately he worried that she might not ever be ready. He knew that would never change the way he felt about her. He would- COULD- never stop loving her because of something like that. It just wouldn't leave his mind, though, and every step he took just pounded the fear deeper and deeper into his head that she may never be ready to accept him- to let him in, mentally and physically. Reluctantly, his brain began to make a terrifying connection.  
  
Feet against the pavement. Blood in his ears. Breath robbed from his lungs...  
  
He remembered that night so many months ago that had been one of the worst in his life; it was the night that Rachel had first told him about her dreams. He had tried to repress the memory far back into his mind, but sometimes it crawled out and escaped like a hungry wildebeest, dragging it's heavy belly against the Earth. They were just dreams, he had told her. How sorry he had been.  
  
**Dreams don't do this to you, Ross. Dreams don't make you hate yourself.**  
  
In every dream, she had told him in hushes tones that dripped from her tongue and poured onto the floor, included her rape. Every single one of them. And she hated herself afterwards.   
  
**They make me feel disgusting.**  
  
No amount of consoling ever helped, and sometimes he still found her in his bed in the middle of the night when the dreams would return to kill the prey whose necks it had only snapped during it's previous visit.   
  
They hadn't talked about it for months after she told him, pretending that it hadn't happened- that the conversation had never taken pace- and it humiliated her to the extreme that someone somehow knew. Monica was the only other one who knew.   
  
**It's stupid...no one will understand...**  
  
And they didn't- not even him. He always listened, though, and he had never thought it possible to want to hurt something as abstract as a dream until he held her sobbing and torn against his chest. It was beginning to make sense now, though. Perhaps this was the answer she was seeking. This was why- why she couldn't let herself get close to him.   
  
As his feet beat mercilessly into the pavement, he couldn't help but wonder if the faceless intruder that plagued Rachel night after night had a name after all.   
  
****************************************************************************  
  
Before anything else, she felt the familiar pull on her shirt sleeve before her eyes were even given time to flutter open. When they did, she was met by his familiar smile and a modest kiss on the forehead.   
  
"Hi," he whispered, smiling warmly and nudging her cheek with his nose. She smiled in return and her first thoughts were of how much she regretted her actions last night and how much she wished she could just take them back. Lying there with him, she couldn't think of one good reason for why she'd stopped things last night. Not one.   
  
"What time is it?" she asked groggily as he moved his head to rest it on her chest. He glanced over at the cock.   
  
"8:20," he answered as she ruffled his hair with her hand and wrapped the other arm around his back. She nodded and he tucked both of his arms underneath her, effortlessly encircling her small waist. They laid like that for moments upon moments that stretched out over the comforter like rays of gentle sunlight.   
  
"This feels really nice," he finally stated, muffling it into the soft patch of skin on her stomach where his head was resting. She bent her legs a little, disrupting his position and triggering him to scoot up the bed so he could see her. He rested his head up on a bent elbow and looked down into her eyes, smiling and tickling her stomach with the pads of the fingers on his other hand.   
  
"Yeah," she confirmed, resting her hands over the one on her stomach. "Yeah, it really does." She seemed pensive, though, and a little detached, and that worried him. He narrowed his eyes and moved his hand to run it up and down her arm.   
  
"Is something wrong?" he asked.   
  
"Why are you dressed?" she asked randomly, obviously trying to divert the conversation. He didn't fall for it.   
  
"I went running. Now, what's wrong?"  
  
"Sorry. I was just, um, wondering about something..."   
  
"Well what is it?" he inquired, still a little worried.   
  
"I'm still trying to figure out what came over me last night," she admitted. He hadn't really expected that. He was under the impression that they were just going to forget that it had ever happened.   
  
"You don't owe me an explanation, really, Rach."  
  
"Well, it bothers me," she answered abruptly, somewhat rushed in her speech. He sighed and sat up in the bed. Her attention was momentarily captured by the way the soft sunlight that came in through the closed blinds was dancing across his skin, bronzing it and hooking itself around his pronounced muscles. Her thoughts were circuitous and refused to quite plaguing her. The wind picked up, making her white linen curtains billow and her hair stream behind her.  
  
"Well, it shouldn't. Look, I know that sex can be really serious for a girl. Your entire life, all that you've been told is that you should wait until that 'perfect' guys comes around to do it. It's normal for you to-"   
  
"But you ARE him, Ross! I know you are! There's no doubt in my mind that you're supposed to be the one! And still, I freaked out! I mean, I have NO idea why! You know I'm not usually this uptight about...sexual stuff." She lowered her voice on the last part and subconsciously bunched the covers up around herself more. He nodded but was reluctant to mention what he knew to be true. He felt it was a form of self-incrimination. He was being selfish, but he just didn't have the heart to mention her dreams.  
  
"I know you aren't. This is different, though, and I understand that." She shook her head and looked down at the flower pattern on her down comforter. She knew she shouldn't regret her decision, but some moments were worse than others. Now was one of those times. She had stopped because she thought it was safer for him- for them- but there were moments she worried that she might have done the worst possible thing.   
  
"That makes one of us."  
  
*****************************************************************************  
  
"So, we kind of...you know," Monica giggled, arching her eyebrow. Rachel offered up a weak smile to her best friend.   
  
"Oh yeah? Wait, you didn't have sex, did you?"   
  
"Noooo, no, no, no. We did...other...stuff. Oh, you know what I mean. Anyway, it was really great!" Monica was practically squealing now, provoking a genuine smile from Rachel. She was happy for her friend- she knew how much she liked Chandler and what an upstanding guy he was. She was finding it hard to concentrate, though, with all of her mixed feelings over Ross flying around. Apparently, Monica noticed.   
  
"Rachel, what's wrong, because you're like really putting a damper on this whole thing!"   
  
"God, I'm so sorry, Mon. I know how important this is to you. I'm not meaning to seem so distant and uninterested. It's just..."  
  
"Ross stuff?" Monica asked knowingly. Rachel nodded and looked down, almost ashamed. Monica scooted closer to her on her bed and rubbed her friend's arm.   
  
"What is it?"  
  
"Ugh, I don't know. It's just this whole stupid Ross thing. We almost had sex last night..." Her voice trailed off at the end. She wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or regret. Monica looked both excited and worried.   
  
"Really? What happened?"   
  
"I- I don't really know," Rachel admitted, wrapping her arms tightly around her legs and sitting in a ball on the bed. "I just...freaked out, I guess."   
  
"Well, that's understandable, Sweety. It's a big step for you guys."  
  
"I know that," Rachel agreed, nodding. "It's just that...there's something else- something I haven't told him. I don't know if I can, Monica. I mean, I don't even know if it means anything, but I don't know how to mention it to him without breaking his heart."  
  
"God, Rach, you're not going to break up with him, are you? Because you know how much I love you, but I don't-"  
  
"No, no, that's not it! It's...remember those dreams I kept having a few months ago? When I first started dating Ross?"   
  
"Yeah. What about them?"  
  
"I've been thinking about it nonstop since it happened last night and...I'm starting to think that maybe they're about him."   
  
"WHAT?" Monica yelled, causing Rachel to smack a hand over her friend's mouth.   
  
"Shh! He's right upstairs!" she whispered, bringing a finger to her own lips to signal Monica to be quiet.   
  
"Okay, I'm sorry," Monica whispered in turn. "Continue."  
  
"Alright, well...I think I figured it out. You know how the...guy...in my dreams never had a face?" Monica nodded. "I think maybe it was Ross all along."  
  
"What? That doesn't make any sense. Ross is the last person in the world who would EVER do anything like that. Ever. Especially to you. You know that."  
  
"I do." Rachel nodded, swallowing deeply. "I do know that. That doesn't mean I'm not still scared, though. Maybe I'm just subconsciously making up excuses for not doing it."  
  
"Scared of what, though?" Monica asked, looking visibly confused.  
  
"Scared that after it's over, he'll treat me like all the others."   
  
There, she thought. She had said it. She had never dared utter that fear before, but she had finally just said it. It was out there now- free for God himself to hear and judge her for it. She sighed and leaned her weary head on her hand for a moment, staring at her best friend's face from across the bed. She didn't even want to think about the words that she had just spoken or the sudden stomach-twisting drop that sent her head spinning.   
  
"You're afraid that Ross is going to stop loving you for YOU after you have sex with him?" Monica asked, making sure that she was understanding what her friend was saying. Rachel made an upset face but nodded, burying her head in her hands. After another quiet moment, she spoke.   
  
"I guess I'm just afraid he's going to turn into...another one of those guys like from the club the other night. He's going to start...expecting things. Even if he doesn't know he's doing it, I think I'm afraid he's going to forget why he really loves me." Rachel was obviously upset, and on the verge of tears now. On top of being confused, she was deathly scared that she was right.   
  
"Oh, honey," Monica cooed, patting her friend on the leg. "I think you really need to talk to him about all of this. All I can really say is that I don't believe for a moment that he would do that, but if this is really bothering you that much-"  
  
"I can't do that, Monica," Rachel stated simply. "I could never do that to him. It was bad enough just telling him about the dreams. How am I supposed to tell him that I think they were about HIM!?" She shook her head from side-to-side. "No, there's just no way."  
  
"Do you think he has any idea?"   
  
"No, none at all."  
  
"Well, maybe you should give him some more credit," Monica suggested. "He's smarter than he looks." At this, Rachel looked up and grinned for the first time during the conversation.   
  
"Maybe," she whispered, sniffling softly and smiling weekly.   
  
****************************************************************************  
  
Morning light slanted through the cracks of the vertical blinds in Ross' room. Strips of hazy sunlight fell across the two bodies on his bed, both lying tranquilly on their backs. Each was panting slightly and sporting a skin tone that indicated recent vigorous activity: pink, flushed and gleaming with beads of sweat. They lay only centimeters apart, hands clasped in the space between their bodies with her head resting on his shoulder. Even the traces of sun weaving their way in through the blinds suggested a hazy, hot, and humid afternoon. And because she hated really strong air conditioning, he'd turned it down when they'd entered. As a consequence, they were lying without covers and had foregone much more cuddling after hooking up. Their eyelids fluttered from time to time, but mostly remained closed.   
  
The angle of the light indicated that it was at least mid-afternoon. That morning, after rushing back to his loft from the swimming pool, they'd ordered collapsed immediately on his bed. It had taken him by surprise, the way she'd wrapped her arms around his neck and pushed their bodies simultaneously back onto the mattress. All the while, he had a sinking suspicion that her aggression was some brazen attempt at making it up to him from the past weekend's incident. That made him feel repulsive and excited, all at once. Once it was over and they were left to lie there stoically and panting in unison, she had been the first one to speak. She sat up next to him to do it.   
  
"Ross," she began, taking his hands in hers, "there's something I want to talk to you about. I'm not really sure how to, though."  
  
"Just say it- no matter what it is." He massaged her hands with his long, elegant digits, transfixed by her eyes and hanging on her every word. He found himself to be considerably more eager and attentive after getting drunk on her body and tongue.   
  
"Well...before I say anything, you should know something."   
  
"What's that?" he asked, a little nervous and skeptical. The feeling fleeted quickly, however, when she leaned down and placed a sweet yet firm kiss against his lips that lingered there for several seconds. He smiled when she pulled away.  
  
"Okay, I think I'm prepared for the worst, now."  
  
Her hand now tightened on his. Her voice was rough, slightly hoarse. "Well...do you remember those dreams I told you I was having a few months back?"   
  
He froze. Oh God, he thought. The unmentionable had happened. The one thing that he had sworn he would never reveal to her- would never mention- had occurred to her entirely on her own. She had made the connection, and he loathed himself for not having been the one to suggest it.   
  
"Yes..." he answered tentatively. He had no idea what to expect. He was grasping for dear life at the handlebars and praying to not be thrown overboard head-first .   
  
"Well, uh...I think I might have an idea about what they meant." Pause. "I think that, um...maybe...they were about you."  
  
The most awkward of pauses proceeded her last line. The mother of all uncomfortable silences landed smack-dab in the middle of them, steadily erecting a wall that was becoming exponentially more powerful by the second and would surely require more wrecking balls and explosives than could ever exist to break it down.   
  
"Ross?" she whispered, squeezing his hand now out of fear.   
  
"Yeah..." he trailed off, obviously lost in thought. "No, um...no, I understand...I think." At this, Rachel's stomach dropped and her knees buckled. Had she been standing, she surely would have fallen.   
  
"God, I knew I shouldn't have said anything. It really doesn't mean anything, Ross. Really, I was just rambling. I have no idea what my dreams mean."  
  
"Of course you do, Rach," he chimed in, his voice 100 times more calm than she'd expected. "You know what your dreams mean more so than anyone else. If you think they were about me...then they were."  
  
"Yeah, but I don't WANT them to be about you, Ross. I don't want to be afraid of you. I don't want to categorize you with all the others. I don't want to believe that you'll leave me, or stop loving me, or, or...objectify me. I just...it's too hard not to. It's all I've ever known. How am I supposed to just KNOW that you're the one? That...that you're different?"  
  
Ross nodded and got up from the bed, pulling a plain white shirt from the floor over his head and turning to face her. She noted his defensive stance, as did she note that he wasn't meaning to make it. She slid over on the bed and got up on her knees so that she was at least somewhat at eyelevel with him. She groaned and reached for his hand, upset when he refused to remove it from where it was sitting locked on his hip.   
  
"Please, Ross..." she pleased, shaking her head. "I can't handle you getting upset about this. I need you to help me, here. You're the only one who can. If you could just...just..."  
  
He sighed deeply, not from exasperation but from a sort of tired, weak surrender. "Just what, Rach?" His question wasn't rhetorical. It was obvious that he genuinely wanted to know, but at the same time knew that it would only lead to more heartache.   
  
"I mean, I'm with you here. I know what you're saying, and you're saying it for good reason. Yeah, guys have objectified you in the past. They've made crude comments...they've hit on you. I bet they've even sexually harassed you, though I know you'd never admit it to me. So don't think I'm incapable of understanding, because I'm not." She knew he wasn't done. She did not interrupt, but rather waited patiently for him to finish.   
  
"I just don't know what else to do. 'I love you', to me, doesn't mean 'I want to get you into bed'. I'm not going to try and get you into bed with me with some Valentine's Day gestures, or flowers arriving at your locker, or romantic sonnets. I- I don't make affectionate phone calls to try and sway your decision- I like EVERY decision you make just because of how strong-willed it is..." He drew breath and continued.  
  
"If we go out somewhere, I'm not going to pay a strolling violinist to play our song. If we travel somewhere romantic someday, I'll probably even find a way to mess THAT up. I'll probably forget the serenaded in the gondola, or- or the tossing of the coins into the Trevi Fountain while we look deeply into each other's eyes, or- or the pledging of eternal love in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. I'm not your Prince Charming, Rachel! " He was getting more into it, raising his voice, gesticulating wildly and pacing back and front in front of where she was kneeling on the bed. He stopped after that last sentence, though, and reassumed his position with his eyes fixed intently on her, his hands on his hips and his jaw clenched tightly.   
  
"But I swear to GOD that no one will ever love you as much for WHO YOU ARE as I do." He paused for affect after that sentence, having raised his voice sharply on certain words to allow them time to sink in. He was even pointing his finger now. "You tell me that you don't want me to turn into those other guys...Well, I guess I can't really convince you of that. You want to know how you can be sure that I'm different? I guess you can't be. But if you believe for just ONE second that you don't make me the goddamn happiest man alive just by walking into a room...then you really don't know anything." He saw the tears welling in her eyes now, and so he decided to bring down his tone. He stepped forward and closed the space between them, taking her hands in his.   
  
"You're the only woman who's ever made me happy. The only times I've ever come close to being...content have been these past few months when you've been part of my life. I enjoy everything more when you're here. I even like pissing you off...telling you stupid jokes...watching you sleep...seeing the way your face light up when you're excited or the way you play with your hair when you're nervous. Everything's more exciting. More real.." She smiled at this, tears falling silently. He reached up with the pad of his thumb and wiped a stream of them away before they fell.   
  
"I can only tell you that I love you in so many ways, Rachel. What this was all leading to is that I want to keep you in my life- I want to make you happy. I want to make you happy to be with me. If that means that we never have sex- so be it. If that means I have to get in a fight and get the shit beaten out of me with every guy that makes you feel like you deserve anything less than to be respected and cared for...then I guess I'll have to start wearing a helmet and kneepads wherever I go. That's all I've got, Rach. That's all I can tell you...is that I'll wait."   
  
****************************************************************************  
  
End Chapter 9. Continued in Chapter 10. 


	10. Chaoter 10: Just Like A Woman

Title: Just Like A Woman  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
Ah, I know it's been forever between updates! School's out now, though, and I have some time before venturing back to NYC. (Who knows, maybe there will even be time for a repeat sisterly duo update!) :-)  
  
Here comes some more drama, but in a different light and with a different twist. In case you haven't noticed, I like to play with the character of Rachel's potential for really deep psychology. This chapter includes a lot of it, but less directly pertaining to Ross. Don't worry, though, because he plays a big role, too.  
  
Also, about the time period of this piece...I know that I had Rachel and Monica listening to CD's earlier and wearing somewhat modern clothing. To tell you the truth, when I came up with the concept for the story, I wasn't really concerned about the time period. I never considered it. Just to ease any confusion, though, let's say that it's set in the modern day.   
  
"Okay," Monica began, pointing to a bunny-eared page in her magazine while sipping her ice tea, "so what do you think? The white dress with the navy blue trim or the gold dress with the black trim?"   
  
Prom was nearing, as was the end of the year, and Monica and Rachel were sitting quietly in a tucked-away nook in the back of Johnny Rocket's dinner with several magazines sprawled across their table, discussing what prom dress and shows Monica should get.   
  
"I don't know," Rachel admitted, opening a different magazine and turning quickly to a specific page, "I think this pink one would look better on you. Plus, I saw these REALLY cute, strappy pink shoes the last time I was in Soho. They'd go GREAT with that." Suddenly, something occurred to Rachel. "Oh, so you ARE going with Chandler?"   
  
"Yeah," Monica answered, smiling adoringly and wistfully. "He officially asked me last night on the phone. It was cute- he was so embarassed. I think he thinks prom is lame, but I guess most guys do."   
  
"Yeah," Rachel answered, nodding, "Ross puts on a happy face, though, because he knows how important it is to girls. Ugh, I'm so glad we already got our dress and tux. It's such a relief."  
  
"Hey," Monica began, closing her magazine and crossing her arms on top of the table, "doesn't it make you a little sad to think about Ross going off to college next year? I mean, prom is kind of the last big milestone before graduation. Have you thought about it at all?"  
  
Rachel's face dropped a bit and she sighed quietly, but was obviously trying to hide her disappointment. She and Ross didn't talk about it much, but she thought about life without him almost every day. Sometimes, she would wake up in the morning with a pit in her stomach after an especially gut-wrenching dream about him cheating on her with some nondescript, 20-something slut at a frat party. She'd pictured his empty attic room and his packed car pulling away down the street more times than she cared to recall. Instead of baring all of this to Monica, though, she just nodded and nonchalantly brushed it off.   
  
"Well, yeah, of course I've thought about it. It makes me a little sad, but I know we're going to work through it. And, there's always the chance he'll go to NYU." Even as she said it, though, she felt like she was lying to herself. Ross was smart. No, Ross was borderline genius. He'd mentioned applying to schools like Cornell and Dartmouth. Princeton had even passed by in casual conversation. NYU was a good school, but she had a sinking feeling that the only reason Ross would ever consider it would be to stay close to her, and that thought made her sick. As much as she loved Ross, she would never be able to live down the thought of holding him back from living up to his potential. Feeling the tears well up in her eyes, she decided to change the subject.   
  
"What about you?" she asked quickly. "Don't you worry about Chandler?"   
  
"I guess I haven't really had time to think about it yet," Monica confessed. She hadn't had time to think about it. Everything with Chandler had been moving fairly quickly. She wasn't even certain that they were a "couple" yet. Besides, Chandler had been pretty confident all along that he was going to NYU. Monica felt bad for her friend, though, so decided not to mention that particular detail. There was a gaping silence between the girls for a few seconds that seemed to wrap themselves around the pair in a crushing grip. Finally, it was brought to an end by Ross' sudden appearance at the table.   
  
"Hey guys," he announced, sliding into the booth next to Rachel and leaning over to kiss the side of her head.   
  
"What're you doing here?" she asked, surprised and delighted to see him. They hadn't talked since their confrontation in his bedroom the previous night, but it had ended well, with a mutual understanding and hours upon hours of silent confessions and cuddling beneath his blankets. Around midnight, he'd walked her all the way down the street to her house in the rain, not letting go of her hand once. He even took off his sweatshirt and held it over her head with the other hand, sacrificing his own dryness. It was the simple gestures like that that made her believe they would be okay. Currently, he was resting his hand on her thigh, rubbing the same spot on her jeans with his thumb and leaning sideways into her a little.   
  
"I saw your car parked outside so I decided to stop in to say 'hi'. So...'hi'" he stated simply, looking over into Rachel's eyes and smiling, proud of his cute display of boyish charm. She kissed his nose softly but still managed to roll her eyes.   
  
"Oh yeah, your mom called our house a few hours ago, Rach," Ross began, having remembered only that instant. "I told her you were out with Mon, but it sounded kind of important. You might want to go home to see what's up, or at least call her."  
  
Rachel's mouth slid open a bit in confusion and her eyes darted quickly across the table from her best friend to her boyfriend. She moved to get up immediately but Ross grabbed her hand before she could go anywhere.   
  
"Woah, calm down," he cooed, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb for comfort. "I'm sure it's nothing serious. Do you want me to go with you?"   
  
She faltered for a moment, hesitating, but finally nodded her head weakly and waited for Ross to get up from the booth to follow her out the door. Monica drove Ross' car home while he climbed into the passenger's seat of Rachel's convertible, barely allotted enough time to fasten his seatbelt before she'd peeled out of the parking lot of the dinner and began speeding towards her house.   
  
"Woah, Rach, slow down!" he cautioned, gripping the door handle with his right hand and her hand on the gear shift with his left. Upon the contact, she shot her head over to face him. Her face was completely blank and drained of color. He couldn't remember ever seeing her so out of sorts of anxious.   
  
"Rachel, what's the matter?" he whispered, sensing intuitively that she knew something she wasn't telling him. She shook her head.   
  
"Nothing. I just have a bad feeling, that's all." She swallowed deeply, gripping the steering wheel with both hands and white-knuckling it the entire way home.   
  
Rachel shut the front door of her house with an earsplitting slam, just barely giving Ross enough time to slide through without being crushed. She dropped her purse on the floor and jetted up the flight of stairs in front of her, turning down the long hall to her left and leaving Ross in her dust. Deciding not to pursue her any further into the depths of her house, Ross made his way up the flight of stairs and turned to the sitting area at the right, picking up a magazine off the coffee table and sitting down in a chair to wait for her.   
  
He hadn't said anything to her before, but he couldn't shake the feeling that her mother's news was bad. He had tried to assure her that everything was going to be okay, but judging by the wary and shaken inflection in Mrs. Green's voice on the phone that afternoon, something told him that nothing good was going on under that roof.   
  
He sat alone like that for what seemed like hours. In actuality, it was only about 45 minutes. He sighed, his eyes not having been keeping focus on the magazine. He'd been trying for the better part of the time to concentrate on the dragging and monotonous articles that littered the pages. By the time he'd flipped to the last page, having read it cover-to-cover, the words were understandable but barely registering. He turned slightly in his chair, his eyes drifting towards the white door that stood at the end of the long hallway. Light was seeping from beneath the crack at the bottom and he could faintly hear the unintelligible murmurings of Rachel and her mother conferring with one another. Though the subject matter was indecipherable, Ross turned his attention momentarily out the window to his right and let his gaze settle on the empty spot in the driveway where Rachel's father's 1970 Mach1 Mustang used to be parked and a pit formed at the bottom of his stomach.   
  
Suddenly, he heard the crack of a door opening. He nearly leaped from his chair, springing to his feet like an eagerly expectant father from the 20's at the emergence of a delivery room doctor. The watched Rachel turn to shut the door quietly behind her and make her way towards him down the hall. He had half expected her to resurface from the room tear-streaked and bloodshot. She was none of those things, though. Her expression was deadpan, and upon making eye contact with him, she even forced a weak smile. That gesture in itself worried him, though, because he knew that she would never feign happiness if she weren't trying desperately to convince someone (maybe herself) that she was okay.   
  
"So, uh, is everything alright?" Ross asked nervously, reaching behind him out of habit to the waistband of his jeans and tugging them up from where they'd been sagging around his hips. Rachel nodded, perhaps a little too exuberantly, clasping her hands in front of her.   
  
"Oh yeah, you know...it was nothing." She hesitated in her response, the usual confidence of voice abating, and Ross caught it. He nodded slightly, his gaze never leaving hers. It was something, and he knew exactly what that something was. She knew he knew. So, they both stood there in a humid, sticky silence that seemed to soak itself into their skin, weighing them down and threatening them to acknowledge what they both knew to be true.   
  
They could not, though. She, for fear that vocalizing it might make it true. He, because he simply could not do that to her. He refused to hold up a mirror to the burden that her home life had become. If she was content to never again mention her absent father or the jaded, fallen romantic that she called "mom", then he would play this silent game with her forever. He quickly found that he could not, however, go on without offering some bit of comfort. He was willing to pacify her- live alongside her in a world of denial- but he refused to do so coldly or distantly. He stepped forward a bit and wrapped his arms around her, feeling her hands go immediately to his back and her tears, warm and numerous, soak through his shirt. He buried his face into her hair. He kissed her forehead, her nose, her cheek. He tightened his grip around her, crushing her to his chest. He did not offer any words, though. He didn't feel like pretending- telling her that it was going to be okay or that he understood- when he had no idea.   
  
Finally, she pulled away from him, staring at the floor to hide her tears. He had no idea why. He had never been embarrassed to cry in front of him before. She had never been embarrassed to cry in front of anyone. That was one of the most endearing things about her- her uninhibited, pure emotion. He reached out his arm, putting his hand under her chin and lifting her head to meet his gaze. She smiled a bit, her eyes seemingly shining more brightly than usual from the light catching her glazed tears. She grasped his arm with both of her hands, squeezing firmly.   
  
"I, um...I think maybe you should go," she whispered, clearing her throat a little and dropping her stare from his eyes down to his chest. She was still clasping his arm firmly, almost bartering with herself to let him go, but she made no move to. He was utterly confused. She had wept so openly before him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Even now, she was clutching onto his arm for dear life. Still, she'd asked him to leave.   
  
"Wh...I, um...I don't understand," he confessed, tripping over his words. The moved the hand of the arm that she was still holding to caress her cheek, causing her eyes to dart up and look into his. He searched them for some answer, but found none. There was nothing there in that instant but a deep, vacant void. She sniffled a little, fighting back anymore tears.   
  
"I think you should go," she stated matter-of-factly, her voice not faltering at all this time. He furrowed his brow at her, not understanding her words. She was digging her fingernails into the skin on his arm, now, tugging it softly towards her. Her demand was so clear, but her actions contradicted their finality in her refusal to let him go. Tears were forming again in her eyes, but she bore down on her jaw and fought them back. He shook his head, stepping forward to hug her. In hindsight, that was his biggest mistake. It triggered something inside her that had been hung or caught in a groove and she let go of his arm upon his advancement, stepping back and retreating away from him. He let his arms fall like dead weight to his side, only able to stand there with his mouth agape.   
  
"Fine," he surrendered, shaking his head and turning towards the steps. He realized that he could not leave without saying anything more, though, so he turned back to face her before he descended the staircase. She was still just standing there, her shoulders slumped and her face absent of any emotion. Her eyes pleaded with him, though. He saw it and, in that split second, he understand. She needed to be on her own- needed to prove to herself that she could handle this alone. Maybe she saw it as practice for when her mother finally reached that downfall that she was daily crawling towards. She still wanted him there, though, but could find no way to vocalize it without letting herself down.   
  
"You just, uh...call me if you want me," he offered, presenting her with a crooked half-smile before he turned to retreat down the staircase for good that day. He did not turn back around to see if she smiled back.   
  
Ross slammed the door of his locker, turning to see Monica walking down the hall towards him. He was relieved at the sight of his younger sister, because he had not seen or talked to Rachel since he left her house almost 48 hours ago and he was certain that Monica must have talked to her since then.   
  
"Hey Mon," he greeted her, pretending to be nonchalant. "What's going on?"  
  
"Not a lot- just getting ready to go to lunch." Uh oh, Ross thought. Monica almost exclusively went to lunch with Rachel. He couldn't help but look intrigued and a little anxious.   
  
"Oh, uh, with who?" he asked nervously, mentally kicking himself for not coming off more casually. Monica smiled.   
  
"Yes, I'm going with Rachel. She's fine, Ross. She just needs some time." These last words worried Ross.   
  
"Needs time to what? Or from what?"   
  
"You know," Monica began, her eyes narrowing and her words coming out accusingly and pointedly, "I would think you, of all people, would be able to understand how hard this is for her. She's been watching her parents' marriage fall apart for years, now. Her dad's gone, maybe forever, and her mother just sits in their bedroom and cries all day. This isn't easy for her, Ross. It's too much to juggle being a daughter, and a student, and a girlfriend all at once." Her words were becoming increasingly terrifying to Ross, and he swallowed deeply when she was done.   
  
"Just what, uh...what are you saying?" he asked, scared to death of her reply.   
  
"You know how much she loves you, dumbass," Monica replied, her tone somewhere between sarcastic and playful. "She'll come around eventually. You just have to wait."   
  
With that, she turned on her heels and began back down the hallway in the direction she'd come from. Through the sea of people, Ross barely made her out as she met up with a girl whose hair shown like rays of sunshine and whose eyes could pierce through stone with their electric blue. Across the hall, their eyes locked and his stomach dropped. That's all I do anymore, Ross thought to himself. Wait.   
  
Monica and Rachel sped along the open road in Rachel's red Celica convertible, the wind whipping through their hair and the radio blasting. In the past two days, they had been spending more time together than ever before. Monica knew Rachel needed the comfort of a best friend right now, so she had essentially dropped all other duties and responsibilities to be there for her. They had spoken only briefly about he divorce and not at all about Ross since Rachel broke the news to her. Monica felt for her brother, though, and felt some inextricable duty to report back to him on Rachel. She had been watching him mop around the house for the past two days- hauling himself up in his room, listening to sad music, writing vigorously in his journal and losing sleep. She turned the dial on the radio down, halting Rachel's humming along.   
  
"Hey, Rach, you know, we haven't really had a chance to...talk," Monica began unsurely. Rachel didn't take her eyes off the road to look at her.   
  
"Yes we have. We just haven't," she answered dryly.   
  
"Well, let's remedy that, shall we?" Monica suggested in her normal, up-beat tone.   
  
"Can we not?" Rachel asked, sighing deeply. She reached to turn the volume on the radio back up, but Monica caught her hand and stopped her.   
  
"Rach..."she began, waiting for her to toss a glance her way. Once she did, Monica let go of her friend's hand and leaned back in her seat. Defeated, Rachel nodded.   
  
"Okay, what do you want to talk about?"  
  
"Well," Monica started, wracking her brain for just what to ask. More than anything, she was trying to figure out what would ease her brother's mind. "Let's start with Ross." There, she thought. That should cover all the bases.   
  
"What does he have to do with my parents getting divorced?" Rachel asked sardonically and somewhat bitterly.  
  
"You tell me," Monica quipped back, the pointed sting of her words hitting Rachel hard and causing her to whip her head around to glance at her friend.   
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked defensively.   
  
"Come on, Rach," Monica pleaded, hoping that they could just cut to the chase before they had to be back at school. "You know you've been pushing him away. He's so worried about you. He's losing sleep. Don't you think you at least owe him an explanation?" Rachel seemed taken aback by the revelation of how hard Ross was taking all of this.   
  
"Yes," she answered weakly, her words seemingly evaporating into the interstice between them. "I owe him more than that."  
  
"What do you mean?" Monica asked, genuinely confused. Rachel sighed again, tightening her grip on the steering wheel. She pulled into the parking lot of the local coffee shop they'd been heading to, but neither moved to exit the vehicle once they'd parked. Instead, Monica watched her friend as she sat with her head lowered and her gaze fixed on her fumbling hands in her lap.   
  
"I've been doing a lot of thinking..."Rachel trailed off, obviously lost in thought. Monica wondered if her friend even remembered that she was still there. It seemed like she was speaking more to herself than Monica- trying desperately to disentangle her own disordered thoughts.   
  
"Yeah?" she encouraged. At this, Rachel looked up at Monica and she could see for the first time the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. She wasn't sure when Rachel had started crying, but the tears were abundant and almost shooting from her friend's eyes. Her lips were quivering and she could tell that it was difficult for her to even continue. Supportively, Monica reached across the consol and paced her hand over her friend's.  
  
"He deserves better than this, Mon," she choked out, her voice cracking and plagued by small hiccups before the sentence was done. Monica frowned and squeezed Rachel's hand.  
  
"What are you talking about, Rachel? Better than what?"  
  
"Better than THIS!" she answered explosively, throwing her hands up into the air and bringing them back down against the tight leather of the wheel, causing a loud "honk" to irradiate from the car. Monica jumped at the sound, but Rachel was obviously too far gone to have even noticed it. She was crying overtly, now, and showed no signs of trying to hide it. Her speech was slurred and her face was red.   
  
"Look at me, Monica! This is all so fucked up! I'M so fucked up!" Monica was almost frightened by her usually tranquil friend's volatile emotions. She kept quiet and waited for her to finish, though. She listened and watched as the words poured from Rachel.   
  
"Ross is the best thing that's ever happened to me, but I can barely let him touch me anymore without freaking out! And because of a DREAM, Monica! I had a DREAM and I can't even face him some of the time! Then, my parents get divorced, something I saw coming a MILE away, and I push him away when he's only trying to help! He cares so much about me, Mon..." she trailed off, shaking her head and then leaning it, beaten and tired, against the steering wheel. "He cares so much about me, and I'm too selfish to even let him know I'm okay. I owe him more than just an explanation."  
  
It was quiet in the car for several pregnant minutes before Monica could think of what to say in return.   
  
"Rachel...what are you saying?"  
  
"I'm saying," she began, lifting her head and looking over at her friend, "...I'm saying that I refuse to hold Ross back. I refuse to make him take care of me...I refuse to make him babysit me." She paused, perhaps for effect but perhaps because she didn't believe she could actually say it. She didn't think she could really mean those next words. "I mean that I'm not going to let him waste anymore time on me."  
  
"Rachel," Monica warned, her tone of voice almost threatening. "Don't say that. You know Ross loves you more than anything else in the world..."  
  
"Yeah, I DO know that," Rachel interrupted. "That's the point! It's not fair. It's not fair for him to invest so much in me when I can't give him anything in return. I'm just holding him back."  
  
"From what?"  
  
"From everything! From having a girlfriend who's not a complete wreck. From going to the college that he deserves to go to. From being the independent guy that he needs to be."  
  
"Rachel, is this about your parents?" Monica asked suddenly but firmly. "Are you saying these things because you think your father was holding your mother back?"  
  
"Well, he was, wasn't he?!" she almost yelled, turning completely in her seat to face Monica.   
  
"Rachel, don't do this," Monica pleaded, shaking her head. "Don't do this to Ross. Don't do this to YOURSELF. You are NOT your parents, Rachel. When you and Ross are together, you make each other happier than any other two people I've ever met."  
  
"Yeah, well, ask my parents how they felt when they were graduating from high school. I'll bet you they felt the same way. Look what happened to them," Rachel answered bitterly. "My dad's gone and my mom told me last night that she's moving to California to be a marine biologist. She's finally going after her dream, Monica, and it took her 40 years of enduring a marriage she hated to get there. I'm not watching Ross roll over and die because he has to drag me along like a dead appendage for the ride."   
  
"Wait, your mom's moving to California?" Monica asked, sidetracking from the conversation a bit. This was the first time she'd heard of this.   
  
"Yeah, she's moving as soon as she can sell the house. Jill and I are moving in with Amy. I don't think I'm going to wait, though. I'm going to move in as soon as I can pack up all of my stuff. I just feel like everything's falling apart, and maybe a complete change of scenery is a good way to start over."  
  
"Rachel, this is ridiculous!" Monica yelled. "So, what? You're just going to start your whole life over because you don't like the way things started going? Are you going to get a new best friend, too?"   
  
"Monica, that's not fair," Rachel stated firmly, pointing her eyes. "This is the best things for everyone. Maybe moving in with my sister and taking myself off Ross' shoulders is just what..." Monica cut her off.   
  
"Rachel, you're not a burden to Ross! You're not a burden to ANY of us! If anything, you breaking up with him is just going to crush him more. For my brother's sake AND yours...don't make this mistake."   
  
"No," Rachel protested, shaking her head. "Even if it is a mistake, I have to find that out for myself. I'm only looking out for him. If nothing else, my intentions are good." Rachel turned back in her seat and started up the car. Having never gotten their lunch, the two girls began to drive in silence back to the school.   
  
"Yeah, well," Monica whispered under her breath, "the road to Hell is paved with good intentions."  
  
"Knock, knock," Monica whispered, stepping up onto the top landing of the stairs that led to her brother's room. She found him laying on his stomach on his bed, writing in his journal. She wasn't surprised. He glanced up at her, blankly and indifferently, before nodding. She made her way across the room and sat down in the wooden chair at his desk.   
  
"So, um, how are you?" she asked, knowing that it was probably the last question he wanted to hear. He didn't look up from his book, nor did he stop scribbling.   
  
"I've been better," he replied dryly, and Monica couldn't tell if it was coming from sarcasm or detachment. Maybe a little of both.   
  
"I made supper tonight. If you want some, I'll..."  
  
"I'm not hungry," he snapped, reaching for the earphones that hung around his neck and moving to put them over his ears.   
  
"Don't, Ross. I want to talk."  
  
"No," he stated plainly.   
  
"No? No what?"   
  
"No," he sighed deeply, stopping his writing and looking up at his sister, "no I don't want to talk. No, I don't want to listen. No, I don't want to be interrogated. No, I don't want to pretend for one more second like I can have a normal conversation with anyone right now. Just no."  
  
"I think maybe you'll want to listen to this," she offered hopefully. She harbored no resentment for her brother's short temper. She could feel nothing for him but sadness. When he didn't say anything, she took that as an invitation to continue. "When I talked to her today at lunch...before you guys...um...before she talked to you...she told me some things that might make this all make sense."  
  
"Nothing could make this make sense," Ross replied, shaking his head subconsciously.   
  
"Ross, her mom's moving to California."  
  
"I know that. She told me everything. Well, almost everything," she added bitterly. Everything except why she was doing this to us, he thought to himself.   
  
"No, I don't think you understand. I was at Rachel's a few weeks ago and she took out this picture of her parents when they were in high school. She told me this whole story about how her mom used to want to be a marine biologist, but when her dad got back from the war and was suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, she had to take care of him and put all her dreams on hold."  
  
"You're wasting your time if you think you're telling me anything new, Monica. She's told me this before. I know all of this. This has NOTHING to do with her and me."  
  
"God, Ross, for how smart you are, you're such an IDIOT sometimes! Of COURSE it has something to do with you and her! It has EVERYTHING to do with you and her! She thinks you're her mom and she's her dad and she's holding you back with all of her hand-ups and problems. She thinks she's a burden to you, Ross. She broke down today in her car, SOBBING and cursing herself for not being able to give you what you deserved."  
  
Ross just laid there stunned. He couldn't believe what his sister was telling him. When Rachel had come over after school that day, she had already been crying. They sat on the porch swing out front for hours talking. It was all somewhat of a haze to Ross, but he recalled phrases like "starting over" and "baggage". He hadn't put everything together, thinking at the time that they were nothing but empty excuses used to soften the blow of knowing that she's simply fallen out of love with him.   
  
"Ross, she never stopped loving you. I don't think that girl could stop loving you if the world depended on it. Love was never the problem. The problem is that Rachel's entire world flipped upside down in a matter of months and she's having trouble coping with it all. In her mind, the only logical antidote is to start over- remove herself from the situation entirely. That's why she's moving in with Amy. That's why she...ended things. She's distancing herself from everything she loves because it's just TOO damn hard for her to face them."  
  
"I still don't understand, Monica. I can help her. I would do ANYTHING to take away all of her problems. I want to work through it with her. I want to be there for her. Why won't she let me? Does she not trust me?"  
  
"She doesn't trust HERSELF, Ross," Monica answered, almost pleading with her brother to understand. "She can't look at herself in the mirror anymore. She doesn't want to be a part of the life that led to all of those things. It's like she wants to rewind and start down a different path."  
  
"That's insane!" he rebuked, sitting up now on the bed. Monica nodded.   
  
"I know, but it's what she has to do right now. You have to let her go. You have to let her try things this way for a while. All you can do now is hope she realizes what a mistake this is."  
  
"God, I can't do that, Monica." He ran his hands through his hair and let himself back backwards onto the mattress. He stared up through the skylight, recalling the dozens of times that he had done so with her. He shook his head in refusal. "I can't just give up. I can't let her move miles away into the city and just forget about me."  
  
"She won't forget about you, Ross. I'm sure a day won't go by when she doesn't think about you- about the two of you together."  
  
"Jesus, what if she meets someone?" Ross pondered aloud, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. "I'd die, Mon. If I found out she was with someone else...God, I don't know what I'd do."  
  
"She's not going to find anyone else, Ross. The second she's ready to be with ANYONE, you'll be the one. She needs time for herself, right now." Moments went past with no discussion. Nothing was heard on the third story of the house but their respective rhythmic breaths and raindrops against glass.   
  
"What was it like?" Monica finally asked daringly. "What was it like this afternoon? You know...when she was talking to you?"  
  
"It was like..." Ross trailed off, gazing upward and lost in thought. He shook his head again. "It was like I was someone else. I don't know how to explain it. It was like...it wasn't really happening." He paused, lifting his head momentarily to look at his sister. "I didn't believe it could be happening, Mon."   
  
She saw the tears forming and she almost panicked. She had never seen her brother cry before. Even when he had gotten hurt playing sports as a little boy, he'd only screamed and pouted. She had never seen tears fall from those eyes, those, and the scene looked foreign. Before she knew it, though, his cheeks were tear-stained. She moved to the bed to sit beside him and she cradled his head in her lap as he rocked back and forth and wept silently into her leg.   
  
"She broke my heart," he whispered, over and over. "She broke my heart."  
  
"Nobody feels any pain   
  
Tonight as I stand inside the rain   
  
Everybody knows   
  
That Baby's got new clothes   
  
But lately I see her ribbons and her bows   
  
Have fallen from her curls  
  
She takes just like a woman  
  
yes she does   
  
She makes love just like a woman  
  
yes she does   
  
And she aches just like a woman   
  
But she breaks just like a little girl."  
  
End Chapter 10. Continued in Chapter 11. 


	11. Chapter 11: Unruhe

Title: Unruhe  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
Return of the quick updates! Here I am in NYC, and I'm going to be here for a good bit of the summer with my sisters. (Plural...there are 3 of them...pray that I can keep sane and alive long enough to finish the story). :-)  
  
Sorry about the "40 years of marriage" mishap. I don't know why I overlooked that. I was originally going to write 30, but for whatever reason, I changed it to 40. Who knows?  
  
Two people said there was a story similar to this one out there right now. I'm not sure what they meant by "similar to this one". The gang when they were younger? Rachel sacrificing herself for Ross' sake? In any case, I wasn't aware of that. I hope this story is original enough to hold your interest!  
  
This chapter is rated R for disturbing themes and adult content. No sex- just sad, lonely men.  
  
In German, Unruhe, the title, means "unrest".   
  
For whatever reason, the asterisks aren't working to break up the sections, so to reduce the confusion factor I'm going to break the sections with long lines of "OOOOOOOOOO" Don't be confused when that happens :-)  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"You guys really don't have to do this," Ross insisted, throwing a pillow across the room at Chandler, who was hauled up on the floor next to Ross' desk. "I'll be find on my own."  
  
"We know we don't HAVE to," answered Chandler, taking the pillow and propping it up against the side of the desk. He gathered together some of the blankets and comforters that Ross had provided him with as well, crafting himself a makeshift bed. "We want to."  
  
It had been a little over a month since that afternoon when Rachel had come to Ross. Only Monica had seen or heard from her since then. She had made a conscious point not to face the others- not because she was scared that they would try and persuade her to stay, but because she was afraid that in seeing them, she would not be able to force herself to go. She sent messages to Chandler, Joey and Phoebe through Monica, assuring them that she would call them when she was ready and instructing them not to worry about her.   
  
Now, this afternoon she was moving off of their street and miles away into a city so distant and massive that it may as well have been another country.   
  
She had not seen or talked to Ross in a month.   
  
When Monica had come back from Rachel's for the last time a few days ago, baring messages and condolences to all, she could not look Ross in the face when she had nothing to offer him. Her friend had not explicitly told her that she could not say goodbye to him. She had simply chosen to not mention him at all. Monica was surprised. Ross was not.   
  
Prom had come and gone. He had sat alone that night in his room, pretending to watch a documentary on early Pre-Columbian tribes and counting down the seconds until an appropriate time to go to bed. He had never moved his tux from where it hung on his bathroom door. Even now it was hanging there, ironed crisp and jet black in it's plastic bag. He had not bothered moving it. He told himself it was because there was nowhere else to put it, but secretly it comforted him to know that there had been a time when he might have been wearing it with her, elegant and enchanted, tucked at his side.   
  
Monica and Chandler told him they'd stay with him that night, failing to acknowledge that it was out of moral support on Rachel's moving day, but knowing that it was a wordless understanding. He'd resisted at first, as expected, but had eventually succumbed to their invasion of his room.   
  
Now, he laid on his bed in the dark with only one thing on his mind: her. All of his thoughts had come back to her. For an entire month, his brain had rewired itself into a circuitous cycle and he was growing tiresome. She plagued him- haunted him. Every dream was the same, with only minute details wavering at all.   
  
The girl with golden hair was coming towards him across the field. With what seemed a single shifting of her muscles, she tore off her clothing and fell heedlessly to the ground. Her body was scarred and bruised- battered by a man without a face, but whose eyes he could see and they'd burnt her skin to cinder. Still, he could not tear his eyes from her. Even as she cried, broken and decomposing into a movement whose foundation she'd cracked with her tears, he was aroused and drawn to her like an army of ants to honey on a humid day. The girls grace and elegance could bring downfall to nations; annihilate entire cultures; drown coastal villages. His eyes would begin to burn, but he could not look away. Just as he would reach out to touch her, he would feel an emptiness in his stomach like falling and he would awaken. He could never remember exactly how the dream ended, but he knew that in some way her life had been sacrificed for his own.   
  
He would wake up in cold sweats, reaching for the thing whose face had roused him to begin with. She was never there.   
  
After the first weak, he stopped believing that the cold sweats and insomnia would ever stop. After the first month, he stopped believing altogether.   
  
He could hear Monica and Chandler on the floor at the foot of his bed. He couldn't help but resent them. Where had they gone wrong, he asked himself. Had he loved her too much? Had he held her too closely? He hated all of the "what ifs" and "if onlys" that clouded his mind. They'd been there for weeks like a chorus of voices, all of whom refused to let the others finish. He sighed, staring up at the rain. It was only raining anymore- maybe to remind him of all he'd lost and the impossibility of ever starting over from there.   
  
She had left him to save him, but all that was left was not worth saving.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Where does this go?" Jill asked, appearing in the doorway with a big gray box in her hands. Rachel nodded towards the closet.   
  
"Just set it over there. I'll sort them out later."  
  
"You okay, Rach?" she asked with a legitimately concerned look on her face. Rachel nodded weakly and leaned over to finish emptying the box she was currently unpacking.   
  
"I'm just tired," she replied. That was such a lame answer. No one ever answered with "I'm just tired" unless about a dozen other things were actually bothering them. Even with as shallow and dense as Jill was, she noticed the grief in her sister's voice.   
  
"Oh, come on. You usually tell me everything but you haven't even mentioned why you decided to move in here so early. What gives?" Jill sat down on the one of the two twin beds that would belong to her and crossed her legs to signal that she was not leaving anytime soon. Perceiving this, Rachel rolled her eyes and continued her unpacking.   
  
"I really don't feel like talking about it, Jill," she mumbled under her breath, her words just barely decipherable as English.   
  
"I talked to mom today," Jill offered, hoping this would strike some interest from Rachel. It did. She looked up inquisitively but said nothing. "She moved into this apartment in downtown San Francisco. She's going back to school next fall."  
  
"Did she say anything about dad?" Rachel asked. She wasn't sure why. She didn't really know what she wanted the answer to be. Jill nodded and kind of smirked.   
  
"Actually, yeah. Believe it or not, she said she kind of misses him."  
  
I miss him, too, she immediately thought, not sure of which "him" she meant.   
  
"You look tired," Jill proffered randomly. Rachel stopped what she was doing to look up at her sister and stare blankly at her.   
  
"Thanks," she deadpanned. She did feel tired, though, and with good reason. She had not had a good night's sleep in almost a month. She always seemed to feel on edge- like at any moment, the cold and sharp tension inside her was liable to translate itself into a debilitating virus. She would fall asleep underneath piles of blankets and down comforters, shivering and huddled into a ball, and wake up breathing deeply in a puddle of sweat in the aftermath of an erotic union with her demons.   
  
This had all started about a week after she left Ross' house. One of Jill's older guy friends had been at the house and had somehow found his way into Rachel's room. They'd struck up a conversation, which Rachel had been disinterested and inactively participating in from the beginning, and he'd somehow ended up asking her out on a date. An icy hotness had shot all over her body, making her blood numb and the hair on her arms stand on end. She felt dirty, even after her immediately declination. She had closed her eyes after he left the room, bringing to the forefront of her mind the image that would stay there permanently for weeks to follow:   
  
The face of a young boy, frightened with tanned skin and deep chocolate eyes. Her young boy. Him. Always him.   
  
"Hey," Jill began, snapping Rachel out of her interlude and back to reality. "Why'd you bring everything with you? I thought you were supposed to leave like half your stuff behind." Rachel nodded, fixing her eyes on the floor.   
  
"I left more than half."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
It's curious how little the mind can focus on one thing- one image or thought- without recovering all previous encounters associated with it. For days at a time he was capable of forgetting her face, but never her lips or eyes or smell. He would barter with himself at night, trading the memory of a first kiss for that of a last dance. He found that phasing her out in stages and fragments of memories made the process all that less painful.   
  
At times, he even tried lying to himself- outright lies that ventured so far from reality that they could not possibly budge without regaining some truth to them. He tried remembering her in ways that she had not and could not ever exist. He thought of her at times as a jointed wooden scarecrow, wincing and stiffening when he touched her. He would force her, in his dreams, to push him away as he pulled her nearer. All of these things, he thought, would make letting her go easier.   
  
Letting her go.   
  
That's how Monica had worded it- using a strategically placed euphemism similar to "passing away". When she said it, he immediately pictured himself as a little boy standing by the sea, watching a tiny wooden sailboat being carried effortlessly away by the waves.   
  
Letting her go.   
  
A 40s-style sailor in immaculately white garb, bright-eyed but already lost, kissing her wet body in the rain before shipping off to defend an abstract uncertainty.   
  
Letting her go.   
  
The face of a young boy, frightened with tanned skin and deep chocolate eyes. Her young boy. Hers. Always hers.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Rachel, are you not going to get ready?" Amy asked, having walked into her sister's room with expectations of her being dressed to the nines and instead finding her laying on her bed reading a magazine in jeans and a t-shirt.   
  
"I am ready," she refuted, not looking up from her magazine. Amy rolled her eyes and sighed deeply.   
  
"Come ON, Rachel, you've been here for like a month and you haven't even come out with me ONCE! At least put on some make-up or something! What's gotten into you lately?" Rachel shrugged, finally putting the magazine down and sitting up on the edge of her bed.   
  
"I don't feel like it. I'm ready...let's go," she offered, trying to sound at least somewhat enthusiastic. The truth was, though, she couldn't have cared less about going out with her older sister to some lame club or bar. She wasn't even old enough to be served alcohol, and even if she chose to use the fake ID she'd obtained so many months ago, she would still be with her sister. Amy saw through her and came into the room.   
  
"Rachel, you really do need to get over this Ross shit. It's been 2 months since the two of you broke up, and I know I don't know much about it, but YOU'RE the one who initiated it. How friggin' sad can it be? You're just in high school, anyway."  
  
"You're right," Rachel answered in a calm, even tone. "You don't know much about it."  
  
"Whatever. The point is, I'm taking you out tonight and you're GOING to have fun! Who knows? Maybe you'll even meet some guy who'll make you forget him." Amy smiled spuriously, patting her sister on the back and handing her a make-up back from the desk beside her. "I'm going to wait 20 more minutes for you to get ready, but that's IT. Now hurry!"  
  
Rachel sat alone on the bed with the make-up bag in her hand after Amy left. She didn't move to get up or even to open the bag. She just sat there for a long while, feeling nothing until a warm liquid splattered against her arm and she looked down to see that she was crying. Amy's words echoed through her mind.   
  
Forget him.   
  
I don't want to forget him.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Alright, so tell me all about it!" Chandler demanded, scooting up the wooden chair beside Ross' bed and leaning forward with impatience. Ross sat cross-legged on the bed, smiling at his friend's eagerness.   
  
"It was, uh...it was alright."  
  
"No way, dude, this is Carrie Dubnansky we're talking about here! I want DETAILS!"  
  
Carrie Dubnansky was a tall, fair-haired girl with bold but soft features and sun-tinted skin. She had a face that one might call graceful if it weren't for the fact that there was nearly nothing behind it. Her claim-to-fame was being both the cheerleading and lacrosse co-captain and also "being with" nearly every guy in her class.   
  
"It was...nice," Ross insisted, hesitant to add anything more. "She's nice."  
  
"Aw, dude," Chandler whined, giving his friend a doubting but sympathetic look. "You still can't stop thinking about her, can you?" Ross shrugged his shoulders modestly, looking down at his lap. Chandler leaned over and patted his friend on the shoulder.   
  
"I'm sorry, man," Chandler bided. Ross nodded but didn't look up.   
  
"It was weird. There I was with this really attractive girl, on her bed with her ready to do anything I wanted...and all I could think was...'I wonder what Rachel's doing'," Ross confided.   
  
"Woah, you were on her BED?" Ross shot him a look of warning and he apologized with a soft "sorry".   
  
"I bet she's with someone," Ross wagered, his comment seemingly coming from nowhere. He was still staring down blankly at the navy of his comforter.   
  
"I bet not," Chandler offered optimistically. Ross looked up.   
  
"Oh yeah?" he asked, a hint of hope shading his voice. Chandler nodded.   
  
"Yeah. I know I don't know her like you do...but that girl loved you, man. She LOVES you. She didn't leave for the city to find other guys. She left to find herself. I really believe she wants to be with you when she's ready. You're just going to have to..."  
  
"...wait," Ross finished.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
In the darkness of the room, if she covered her ears and squinted her eyes, she could almost pretend she was outside. That is, if it weren't for the plethora of raging neon lights and the slow burn of cigarette smoke in the air. A thousand clubs just like this one and she hated them all. She had lost Amy an hour ago, at least, among the crowd of half-naked strangers who were too busy getting drunk on their overpriced mixed drink to ever notice her. She was thankful for that much.   
  
She sat in the back corner of the club, slowly nursing her Coke, obviously detached from the scene and even herself from the far-off look in her eyes. Her hair had grown a bit over the past 2 months and it now reached almost halfway down her back, straight and slick and more golden than ever in the lamplight.   
  
A crowd of eager strangers shifted and for the first time, he saw her properly.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
It was far too humid that night for blankets. Ross laid spread-eagle across the bed, stripped to his boxers and praying for the air conditioning to kick in. He contemplated going to sleep on the floor just to feel the cool wood against his skin, but movement was not an option and his thoughts were already beginning to bleed themselves to death for the night.  
  
Thoughts of her. Slow, aching thoughts of her.   
  
Music radiated from the clock radio on his bedside.  
  
"Was it something I said   
  
or something I did?   
  
Did my words not come out right?  
  
Though I tried not to hurt you   
  
Though I tried   
  
But I guess that's why they say..."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
It had to be confessed. It should be written down. In blood, even. Thoughts so perverse- so twistingly demented- that they should be scribbled hurriedly in scrabbled writing by a mind as manic as the one that committed them.   
  
He had taken a step towards her and then halted, too overcome by his own lust and terror to continue. He had been aware of the risk he was taking earlier that evening, but after his 10th shot and first dive into her eyes, all reason had been cast out with inhibition and conscience. He could not very well go away now without doing what he had come here to do.  
  
He pressed his fingers tightly against his eyelids. The therapy had not worked. The voices had not quieted. The urge to do the unspeakable was as strong as ever, and he would not let it claw it's way inside his large intestines while trying desperately to contain it.   
  
She was young and beautiful and hopelessly lost. Maybe she had a boy. Maybe she has a boy.   
  
Take heart, sweetheart, or I will take it from you.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Ross' skin was sticky now, having accumulated sweat from the sheets he was laying on. A furnace seemed to have fizzled out somewhere inside him, spreading it's last of steam and vapor through his veins. He had never been so hot.  
  
The sky was dark and the stars were bright and they had been all he'd seen for hours, besides the inside of his eyelids. Now and then his eyes would flutter shut, but that made her face too bright so he'd open them again. The song played on.   
  
"Every rose has its thorn   
  
Just like every night has its dawn  
  
Just like every cowboy sings his sad, sad song   
  
Every rose has its thorn..."  
  
Slow, aching thoughts.   
  
A tingling began in his stomach, like the dull burning of a dying fire whose flames are slowly losing their heat. It spread itself downward between his legs and he let images of her flood his mind. He did not feel dirty. He did not feel sad.   
  
"I listen to our favorite song   
  
playing on the radio   
  
Hear the DJ say loves a game   
  
of easy come and easy go   
  
But I wonder does he know?  
  
Has he ever felt like this?  
  
And I know that you'd be here right now   
  
If I could have let you know somehow   
  
I guess..."  
  
It had been so long since he'd thought of her like this. The last time had been before they were dating, when he was so in love and she was still just an unimaginatively perfect hologram, as illusive and unattainable as a face in a magazine. Now, after all they'd been through, she was still just as unattainable. Just as illusive. Just as distant.   
  
Just as much in love.   
  
"Though it's been a while now   
  
I can still feel so much pain   
  
Like a knife that cuts you   
  
the wound heals but the scar,   
  
that scar remains..."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO   
  
If there had even been hope for her, it was distinguished now. There, in that swarming mass of alcohol-wasted outsiders, it had been lost.   
  
She did not see him slip it into her drink. It tasted bitter and sweet, all at once, and then like nothing moments later.   
  
She was not conscious when he brought her to the car, desperate desires and unadmirable plans buzzing in his head.   
  
She could not make out his face when he slid her into the bed. She was awake through it all, but the mixture of vodka and malicious intent on his breath was all that she knew.   
  
She was not aware when he stripped her of her clothes, her eyes fighting sleep and a cold, bare breeze washing over her.   
  
She did feel the pain. The wide, stretching pain.   
  
She did not see the blood. Everywhere.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Ross' hand moved rapidly, jerking and pulling at that hot place between his legs and moaning her name into the stale air. His eyes were sealed tightly and his breath escaped his mouth in quick, frantic puffs. His heart raced and beat against his chest, his chest pushing tightly back against it., yearning for a girl miles and miles away. His girl.  
  
"Where are you?" he groaned. "I need you."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
It hurt. She needed him.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 11. Continued in Chapter 12. 


	12. Chapter 12: Never Again

Title: Never Again  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
Just got back from a road trip to Philly with my sisters, so that's why I had to leave you hanging there for a little bit before an update.   
  
ABOUT THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER I know that it was probably a little hard to read. Trust me, it was definitely hard to write. I know it could be argued that it was a little out of character for the types of storylines that we see portrayed on "Friends", but most fanfictions are. That's the point- to explore these characters more deeply and to see what they might have been if put in certain situations. It was very important to me in that last chapter to depict these characters in those lights- tormented, desperate and lonely- and especially so with Ross. Adolescence in a confusing time- probably the most confusing and heart-wrenching of a lifetime. That's what I was trying to convey in the last segment of the chapter. Some reviewers stated that they "didn't want to read about that" or that it was "distasteful". I'm truly sorry if anyone felt that way and I did not intend to offend. However, most of my stories contain R-rated sections, none of which I feel are too off-color or gratuitous. That last portion, in my eyes, was necessary to the plot of the story and the development of these characters. If you did not enjoy it...well...I guess I should say that I did preface it and warn adequately beforehand about the disturbing and adult nature of the chapter.   
  
ABOUT CHARACTERIZATION: Some reviewers have said that they think I'm idealizing Rachel in her breaking up with Ross for his sake. I agree- I AM idealizing her. She is my favorite character and I think that the writers only skimmed the surface of the complexities that she could have conveyed. That wasn't their fault- it was the nature of the beast. "Friends" was a lighthearted show, and something as macabre as this would have had no place there. However, I find it fun and interesting to play with these characters, especially hers and especially during a younger time in their lives. If reading slightly out-of-character interpretations of the show isn't your thing, then most of my stories probably aren't for you, as I tend to romanticize a LOT.   
  
Other than that, I appreciate all of the feedback. It really did help me decide where I wanted to take the story and it motivates me to continue with it.   
  
The sterile white hallway swarmed with men and women dressed in starched green scrubs and austere faces. The air was sour and stale, basting the hallway with an almost yellow tint that bounced off the light coming from the overhead fixtures. Everyone working there looked as if they could use a bottle of Vodka and some serious shock therapy.  
  
Ross flung himself through the swinging double doors that led into the ICU, showing no signs that they'd slowed him down or even that they existed in his path. He plowed his way to the nurse's station at the center of the ward, slamming his hands down on the counter and causing the unsuspecting and dazed nurse to jump in her chair and look up at him.   
  
"I'm looking for someone," he stated emphatically, not even realizing that this small amount of information was not only inadequate but also immediately pegged him as suspect and even possibly off-balance. He was off-balance.   
  
"Sir?" the nurse replied, obviously confused and even a bit scared. Ross repeated himself, this time leaning forward and bit and raising his voice.   
  
"Green! Rachel Green! I need to see her!" he demanded, pounding his palms flat against the counter, causing the nurse to jump for the second time. She furrowed her brow and picked up a manila envelope that had been sitting in front of her behind the desk. She thumbed through it quickly and nervously, obviously shaken by Ross' aggression.   
  
"When did you say she was bought in, sir?" the nurse asked. Before Ross had a chance to yell that he had no idea, a tall man in blue scrubs and a white overcoat approached the scene from the side. The man was obviously older from his thinning gray hair and creased skin, but he was tall and dwarfing, giving off an air of distinction and headship.   
  
"What's the problem here?" the man asked calmly, apparently having overheard the commotion. How could he be so calm at a time like this, Ross thought, his palms sweating and claming up all at once.   
  
"Yes," Ross almost whispered, his voice coming down but cracking with nervousness and frustration. Maybe a little fear, as well. "Rachel Green. I was told she was here. She was..." He stopped, biting his lip. He couldn't say it. Even when he had repeated it over the phone to Monica, he had vomited. The doctor nodding knowingly.   
  
"Yes, I'm familiar with Ms. Green's situation. I'm afraid you're going to need to calm down, though, or I will have to have you removed," he warned. Ross nodded calmly, defensively crossing his arms over his chest and catching his breath.   
  
"Is she, um...I mean, did she..." He didn't even know what he wanted to say. His voice was trembling, threatening to crack open and wither away into a whisper. Tears were falling silently from the corners of his eyes, leaving sad trails along his cheeks and down the bridge of his nose.   
  
Monica had called him an hour earlier around 1 am. Her voice had been shaking drastically and she was obviously upset. Her could tell she was crying before she even spoke. Through her broken sentences, he listened as she unraveled the horrific events of that night. Rachel had been at a cub with her sister. Around 11 pm, the bartender said he saw her "stumble out the door" with a man who looked to be at least 10 years older than her and who he had not seen her with earlier that evening. No one knew what happened between then and midnight, when the police found her lying unconscious in the parking lot of the club. Traces of blood and semen had been found on her torn and tattered clothing.  
  
She had been raped.   
  
That's when Ross had vomited. As soon as he'd regained his composure, though, he'd grabbed his keys and fled out the front door to his car. When he arrived at the hospital, an hour away and inside the city, he hadn't even yet thought of the repercussions of what his sister had told him. His mind had registered nothing for 60 entire minutes except that he needed to get there. He needed to get to Rachel.   
  
"Ms. Green was admitted around 2 this morning," the doctor answered, snapping Ross back to reality. "She was conscious but incoherent, having suffered several blows to the head and battery around the pelvis and collarbone. There was some internal bleeding and a few cracked ribs, but surgery has been unnecessary up until this point. We're still keeping her monitored and administering a steady dosage of morphine." He stopped and Ross wondered if the idiot thought he had actually provided enough information.   
  
"Yes, but was she..." Ross trailed off again. For the second time, he was unable to finish that sentence. The doctor gave a sympathetic look, obviously feeling for this overwrought and most likely heartbroken teenage boy. He nodded.   
  
"Ms. Green was raped, yes." Ross took a deep breath and looked as if he needed to sit down, teetering backwards a bit and having to catch himself on the counter behind him. The doctor reached out and grabbed his arm, steadying him.   
  
"Who are you, son?" he asked.   
  
"I'm her, um...well...she was...my sister is her best friend. She's the one who called me. I'm Ross Geller," he finally managed. The doctor nodded and gestured towards the hallway that curved back around the nurse's station.   
  
"Ah, yes. Ms. Geller's been asking for you quite persistently. That's Ms. Green's room right over there- 212. I'm Dr. Burnside and I'll be checking in periodically. For now, she really just needs to rest." Dr. Burnside smiled understandingly and sympathetically. Ross nodded, turning on his heels and making his way meekly and terrified to Room 212.   
  
"Where is he?" Monica whispered through gritted teeth over her shoulder to Chandler. She didn't want Rachel to hear her question. She had not even told her friend that Ross would be coming. Chandler simply shook his head, a look of uncertainty dulling his usually sparkly eyes. Monica sighed deeply and turned her attention back to the frail form in the bed before her.   
  
She was huddled in a fetal position with her eyes squeezed tightly shut. The generic white hospital blankets were pulled up over her shoulders so that only her blood-drained face protruded from underneath them. Her hair was falling limply over her face, screening most of her face from view. She looked cold and helpless. She looked lonely.  
  
"Maybe he got caught in traffic," Chandler suggested, stepping forward to rest his hand on Monica's shoulder out of comfort. She sunk back against his chest, letting herself be supported by his stable form. He kissed her temple softy, triggering a few tears to fall from her eyes.   
  
Just then, the metal doorknob creaked and turned. The thick wooden door opened slowly and a boy who looked a bit like someone Monica knew once entered. This boy was not her brother. He was literally unrecognizable to her. His face was ghost white and his eyes were bloodshot. There were the kinds of dark circles underneath his eyes that emerged solely from stress, rather than fatigue. He looked as if he were ready to leave before he even closed the door behind him.   
  
Monica watched as Ross surveyed the room, taking in the stark white wallpaper and the single window on the far wall. She watched as he grew disgusted at the impersonal nature of the room- the way in which it seemed to push all intruders out with a weightless vacuum. Then, she watched as his eyes fell inevitably on the bed.   
  
"Is she..." he gulped, looking up at Monica for the first time.   
  
"She's sleeping," she answered. She tried to smile but failed miserably. Ross went to stand by Monica and Chandler, taking his sister into an embrace that seemed to pull and push at her all at once.   
  
"Where is Amy?" he asked, grasping at any possible excuse to keep his eyes and attention on his sister and best friend rather than the girl in the bed.   
  
"She went home to get some of Rachel's things. She's the one who called me," Monica answered. Ross just nodded detachedly, his eyes fixed on something 1,000 miles in front of his nose.   
  
"Any her parents?" he enquired. Monica just shook her head and looked down at the floor.   
  
"No one knows where her dad is. Sandra couldn't get a flight out on such short notice. I think she's coming out this weekend, but...I don't know." She fixed her gaze over Ross' shoulder and at the bed. Ross refused to even look her in the eye when she did so, like he was afraid some light might reflect off his sister's eyes and causing a mirrored reflection.   
  
"Do Joey and Phoebe know?" Ross asked, finding that he was running quickly out of questions.   
  
"Yes. We called them right after you, but they thought it'd be inappropriate to come now. They said they don't know her well enough to be here with the family." Monica smiled as she said the last part. "I guess they consider us part of the family." She paused again, staring at Rachel for a few wordless moments. "They're coming in tomorrow."  
  
Ross panicked momentarily, realizing that he had nothing left to ask or say. He would have to turn around. He would have to look- get a first GOOD look- at his nightmares reincarnate that laid resting on that bed. When he did, he felt a steady coldness wash over his body. After 2 months, this was how he was seeing her for the first time again. He shivered uncontrollably for a few moments. The he vomited again.   
  
He ran into the hallway immediately afterwards. Monica was hot on his trail, ducking out before he could shut the door. She followed him to the bathroom and helped him get some paper towels, running them under the faucet and carrying them back to the door. A nurse had caught wind of the situation and took the towels from a very embarrassed Ross, who just thanked her and watched her disappear inside the room to the clean up the mess.   
  
Ross paced vigorously back and forth in the hallway outside the room. Monica stood still against the wall with her fists clenched into tight balls at her sides. She was unsure of what to say.   
  
"Did she see that?" Ross asked, his jaw taunt and his voice pleading.   
  
"No, she's asleep," Monica reminded him. "It's okay, Ross," she comforted, having to stop herself from reaching out to physically touch him and hault his nervous pacing. "That's normal." Ross stopped to turn and face her, pointing an accusing finger in her face and clenching his teeth.   
  
"Let me tell you something," he began, his voice as thick and deep as honey. "NOTHING about this is normal." Monica knew intuitively that her brother was not talking about his getting sick.   
  
"Ross, you're right. It's an awful, disgusting, sick thing...but it HAPPENED. There's nothing you can do to get it back. Just deal with it, like all the rest of us." Monica was preaching to him, her tone firm and unyielding. Ross was taken aback by his sister's harsh words. He looked at her with unsure eyes.   
  
"You're asking me to DEAL with this?" he asked sarcastically, pointing to the door. Monica nodded, crossing her arms.   
  
"Yeah, I am. God, Ross, you know, you're not the only one who loves her. You're not the only one this happened to. We all have to grieve in our own way." Monica's tone was slightly less aggressive now, but her words and their meanings were still firm and said with command.   
  
"Well this is my way!" Ross yelled, drawing attention from all the doctors and nurses who had been standing around. He pounded the flat of his hand firmly against the wooden door, making a harsh "cracking" sound and inadvertently knocking over a tin cup that hand been sitting on a table beside him. The cup tumbled to the ground and rolled clankingly away.   
  
"This..."   
  
CRACK!   
  
"Is my..."   
  
CRACK!   
  
"fucking..."   
  
CRACK!   
  
"WAY!"   
  
Upon saying the word "way", Ross spun around and leaned heavily against the wall, letting his body slide down to the floor. Tears shot from his eyes, but he did not even notice them until he saw them splatter to the floor. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Monica looked down at him and all feelings of anger and frustration left her.   
  
"Ross..." she whispered. He just shook his head where it was in his hands.   
  
"This wasn't supposed to happen," Ross whispered. "He took it from her. She can never get it back." Ross looked up at Monica and she saw that his eyes were already read and squinted from all the tears. His entire face was shining with salty wetness. He sniffled loudly.   
  
"He took it..." he repeated groggily. "It was supposed to be mine, and he TOOK IT!" He pounded his head back against the wall on this last part to accentuate his point.   
  
He laid his head back against the wall with his eyes shut. Monica was still standing there watching him, but he was no longer aware of her presence. He wasn't aware of anything. He was already dreaming. It was a vast, luminous dream where his entire life stretched out before him like a rainy landscape. Everything was covered with a clear, soft light and the sky seemed to be glazed with a glass surface. In this dream, and in this dream only, existed the last untainted memory he had of her. It was from that night at the reservoir. Her hair had been messily hanging open her eyes and her clothes had been soaked from hugging him after his swim. Her eyes were like two diamonds set into her flawless, tanned skin. She had been so young and innocent and trusting.   
  
She had been so virgin.   
  
It's all gone to Hell, he thought. She can never get it back.   
  
"Can I come in?" Monica asked from the doorway, peering inside the room. Rachel smiled feebly and nodded. Monica stepped inside and closed to door behind her.   
  
She was the only visitor in the room so she sat down in the plastic white chair and pulled it up next to the bed. It was the night of Rachel's third day in the hospital. Amy and Jill had already gone home for the night to sleep and she had explicitly asked Chandler not to come, having wanted adequate time alone with her best friend. Ross had left for the first time that afternoon. He hadn't actually been inside her room since that first moment when he threw up, but he'd waited and slept in the private waiting area outside her room for the nest 48 hours. He'd finally given up on ever finding the courage to or the justification for reentering the room so he'd left just hours before.   
  
"How are you feeling?" she asked, because she knew she had to. Rachel had to stop herself from laughing at the question's absurdity.   
  
"I'm alright," she answered simply. "Are you the only one here?"   
  
"He just left a few hours ago," Monica answered, having known what Rachel really meant when she asked the question.   
  
"He just left for the first time?" she asked, obviously surprised. Monica nodded.   
  
"Yup. He stuck it out for 48 hours but I guess fatigue and grief finally got the better of him."   
  
"Maybe it was better that way, anyway," Rachel admitted. Monica looked doubtful.   
  
"Did you even want to see him?"  
  
"God..." Rachel whispered, shaking her head in disbelief of the question and gazing up pensively at the ceiling above her.   
  
"Do you still love him?" Monica asked, deciding to cut quickly to the chase. In hindsight, she'd regretted it. Immediately, the tears had welled up in Rachel's eyes. Her chin began to quiver as she stared back at Monica. She broke down then, nodding her head vigorously.   
  
"So much, Monica..." she answered, allowing Monica to come sit on the bed with her and wrap her arms around her, rocking her back and forth. Rachel buried her head in her shoulder and clutched at Monica's back. "I still love him so much it hurt," she whimpered, her voice just barely above a whisper.   
  
"Even after all this?" Monica asked, smoothing back her friend's hair. Rachel nodded, even as her head was still buried.   
  
"Especially after all this."  
  
"He still loves you, too, you know," Monica stated. It was not a question, but perhaps it should have been. "I honestly believe that he will never stop." Rachel actually chuckled aloud.   
  
"He has not reason to," she answered. "He should hate me." Monica shook her head.   
  
"Oh, sweety. He could never hate you. Not in a million years."  
  
"I should have done it, Monica." Rachel shook her head, putting her face back down into her friend's shoulder and wrapping her arms back around Monica's waist. "I should have done it when I have the chance. Now, it's too late."  
  
"It's never too late, honey. This was a very unique situation. You never could have known."  
  
"It doesn't matter," Rachel answered, shaking her head. "I kept it from him until it was too late and now I can never give it back to him. I wish he had been the one, Monica. He should have been the one" She looked up into her friend's eyes again. "He'll never forgive me for this."  
  
"Sweety, he does NOT blame you for this. This is NOT your fault. If anything, he blames himself. You know he always does when anything bad happens to you. He finds some way to take the blame. It's just his way of dealing with it."  
  
"God, what have I done, Monica?" Rachel asked, shaking her head. "I messed this up so badly. I don't know if we can ever get it back. Things can never be the same now."  
  
"Yes they can," Monica reassured. "Ross just needs some time. He's coping with it in his own way. We all are, sweety. He'll come around when it stops hurting so much."  
  
It can never stop hurting, Rachel thought.   
  
End Chapter 12. Continued in Chapter 13. 


	13. Chapter 13: How To Deal

Title: How To Deal  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
IN RE TO A REVIEW: Someone asked if Rachel's rape could perhaps "not count" or if she could be a "born again virgin". No. Since when does sex "not count", ESPECIALLY when it's a rape? You can never take back the physical act. Sure, you can repress the memory. In your mind, you can negate it's existence. It can never be taken back, though. For the purpose of this story, what's done is done. To "take it back" afterwards wouldn't be holding true to the original intent of the story. The purpose of that was to strengthen her (and Ross') character. This is not a happy-go-lucky story. I cannot even promise you a happy ending. You will have to continue reading to find out.   
  
That same person suggested Ross finding the perpetrator and beating him up. There was a reason Ross got in that bar fight in the beginning, and it wasn't just to keep him out of character :-) I wanted to give him a place to work from- a physical indicator of his growth. There will be a confrontation in a chapter to come where Ross is given the opportunity to possibly even kill this man. We will get to see a changed Ross.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"So you're going to be okay?" Monica asked worriedly. She had just taken the drive home from the hospital with Rachel and Amy and was now having to leave her alone, since Amy had gone back to work. Rachel nodded and smiled feebly, sitting down on the edge of her bed.   
  
"Yeah, I'm fine. Don't be silly," she answered, slapping her hand in the air towards Monica in a casual brush-off gesture. She nodded and looked around the room that seemed so foreign and cold to her now. She had barely had adequate time to adjust to it before all of this had happened, and upon returning to it, she couldn't help but feel that even the hospital had been more comforting.   
  
"There's, uh...something else, Rach," Monica revealed, biting her lip and hoping for the best. Rachel looked confused and a bit frightened.   
  
"What is it?" she enquired, her eyes searching for an answer. Nothing could possibly surprise or scare me after what I've been through, Rachel thought to herself.   
  
"There's someone who wants to talk to you," Monica whispered, looking back at the door. As if on cue, the white bedroom door opened slowly and Ross stepped inside. Monica looked back at her friend, feeling the tension mounting in the room. She wanted to get out of there quickly- if not just to allot them some free time, then to remove herself from the increasingly tense situation.   
  
The two had not seen each other in almost 2 and a half months. Even when he had come to visit her in the hospital, she had been asleep. Their eyes had not made contact...their skin had not grazed the other's for over 2 months.   
  
"I'm going to go," Monica announced quietly. "I'll call you later, Rach." With that, she turned and exited the room. When she pass by Ross on the way, she gave his hand a covert squeeze of comfort and whispered an encouraging "good luck" before she slipped out.   
  
The door dragged shut and they were left alone together.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Can you believe all of this?" Monica asked, leaning her head against the back of the porch swing. Chandler had come over after she'd arrived home from Rachel's that afternoon. They were sitting together on the whitewashed wooden swing on her front porch. The afternoon had given way to evening, the sun beginning to fall down behind the treetops. The wind was blowing just enough to cause chills to run occasionally up their skin.   
  
"No, I really can't," Chandler replied. He had never known anything like this to happen before- at least not to anyone he knew. He thought he had it bad- with his alcoholic, sexually aggressive mother and his pool-boy-screwing, cross-dressing father. Even those hang-ups seemed equivalent to a paper cut in comparison.   
  
"How's Ross been?" Monica questioned. Her brother had been sleeping at Chandler's for the past few weeks. She had talked to him periodically, but he had always seemed so wound up and enveloped in his own little far-off world.   
  
"He's dealing with it," he answered, perhaps spinning it a bit optimistically. He shook her head and pursed his lips. "I've got to say, though...I don't know that he's ever going to be able to see past this."  
  
"Ross is more of a man than that," Monica insisted, shaking her head. "He would NEVER blame her for this."  
  
"No," Chandler agreed. "You're right, he wouldn't. He DOESN'T. It's just that..." He paused, searching for the right words. Ross had only spoken to him briefly about his feelings, and he was afraid he's misconstrue what his friend had really meant. "I think he feels like something was stolen from him, not just from her."  
  
"Maybe that's understandable," Monica admitted. She leaned her head into Chandler's shoulder and he wrapped an arm around her. It was getting cooler, even through the earlier heat of the summer night. Chandler nodded, feeling his cheek brush against hers.   
  
"I don't know what I would do," he admitted, shaking his head again. "I mean, the guy's got to feel helpless. He's got to feel like he could have maybe protected her from this."  
  
"He couldn't have," she attested. "There's nothing he could have done."  
  
"I know that. HE probably knows that, on some level. You know he's got to feel that way, though."  
  
"Well...I'm just wondering how they're getting along by themselves," Monica submitted. "I left them alone together almost 3 hours ago."  
  
"God, talk about a dramatic reunion."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
TWO DAYS PREVIOUSLY...  
  
"You want some water or something, man?" Chandler asked. He watched his friend drop his suitcase like dead weight in the center of his bedroom. Ross shook his head.   
  
"No, I'm good. Thanks," he whispered, his mouth obviously dry. He sat down on the beanbag chair in the corner of Chandler's bed, and taking this as an invitation, Chandler sat down at his bed. The two were completely silent for a few minutes.   
  
"What are you thinking?" Chandler asked. It felt strange. He had never asked anyone besides Monica that before. With all previously girls, he hadn't really cared, and it would have seemed awkward for him to ask another guy. This situation was awkward long before, though, so he figured he had nothing to lose. Ross just stared blankly, showing no signs of answering at first. Then, surprisingly, he let out a little chuckle.   
  
"I don't even know, man. I've been trying to figure out just how I feel about this for days, and I'm still at a loss. I have no idea what I'm thinking. I'm just sort of...existing from one stage to the next."  
  
"Well," Chandler replied, trying to figure out how to respond to that. "Try to explain it to me."  
  
"Alright," Ross began, his voice low and steady. "Well, at first, I was completely numb. I got Monica's phone call and I just reacted immediately. I'm not even sure that I really understood what was going on. I just got to the hospital as fast as possible because I knew I had to see her. I didn't really know why I thought seeing her would make things better, but I just knew I had to before I could stop panicking."  
  
"Then you saw her," Chandler prompted. Ross nodded.   
  
"Then I saw her."  
  
"How'd you feel then?"  
  
"I vomited," Ross replied, looking up at Chandler and even smiling a little. Chandler smiled in return, easing the discomfort of the conversation.   
  
"Right, well, I mean after that." Ross shook his head, his face becoming stern again.   
  
"I don't know," Ross confided. It was quiet for a few seconds. "but I remembered in that one second how beautiful she was, and I think maybe that was the hardest part."  
  
"What about while you were sitting in the waiting room? What were you thinking about for all that time?"  
  
"I went through stages," Ross admitted. "At first, all I could picture was her. I wasn't really THINKING about anything. I wasn't really feeling any recognizable emotion. I would just close my eyes for hours at a time and think about her and wonder how I was ever going to get that back. I wasn't strategizing or anything...just wanting her. I know it sounds dumb, but...I think I actually felt my heart break a little."  
  
"Weren't you ever mad?" Chandler asked, a little surprised that Ross hadn't mentioned this already.  
  
"Sure- furious," he admitted. "I sat in that waiting room for at least an hour one night plotting ways to kill that guy. I mean, I was really plotting his death. I was serious about it at the time. I was almost fantasizing about it. It felt sick and twisted until I thought about him actually...doing it to her. Then it didn't feel so terrible." Chandler nodded, trying to understand how his friend was feeling. He really wanted to understand. "Let me tell you, though, Chandler. Being furious takes a lot out of you."  
  
"So you're not as furious anymore?"  
  
"No. Like I said before, it's a combination of everything now. It's like feeling every possible emotion at once, so it feels like you're feeling nothing. It's hard to explain."  
  
"That makes sense to me."  
  
"I almost gave up once," Ross admitted, looking down and obvious ashamed.   
  
"What do you mean 'gave up'?"  
  
"I mean there was a time when I was sitting in that same wooden chair for about the 40th consecutive hour with tears streaming down my face and bloody knuckles from where I'd punched a wall and a pounding headache from absolutely driving myself insane with anger and fear and self-hate...and I almost just said 'fuck it'. I was ready to walk out of that hospital and never see her again. I was so convinced that nothing was worth the amount of pain that I felt when I closed my eyes and saw her face and was SURE that I would never be with her again. I was ready to move on and just learn to cope with the consequences later. I didn't think anything was worth all this."  
  
"So what brought you back?" Chandler asked. He was learning slowly that just being there to ask questions was enough for now.   
  
"The same thing that ALWAYS brings me back, man," Ross answered, actually smiling again now. "Her. I remembered that it was her. That was all it took."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
PRESENT TIME...  
  
"Do you want to sit down?" she asked, her voice small and her words dying almost simultaneously as they left her mouth. They were the first words that had been spoken between them since he'd arrived that evening. The first 10 minutes or so was filled with an uncomfortable, taxing silence. Upon her asking, though, he suddenly became very finicky and uneasy, searching quickly for her desk chair and sitting down immediately.   
  
"Can I get you anything?" he asked. He wasn't sure why. She didn't particularly look like she needed anything. It WAS Amy's house, anyway, so he probably wouldn't have been the one to get it for her. She just shook her head and looked down at her hands in her lap, her hair falling in front of her face. He thought he even saw her smile. God, he missed that smile.   
  
"I'm kind of tired of people asking me that, actually," she answered. Oh, he thought. Right. That made sense. He cursed himself for being so insensitive and unoriginal. For all the hours he'd spent thinking about this moment- waiting for it- he was still at a loss for words. She looked up at him, then, and caught him off guard with the stunning way her eyes seemed to pierce through him. They caught hold of him, and as desperately as he wanted to look away, he could not. She reached up and fiddled with the beaded and hemp necklaces around her throat. She had never taken them off, even after they'd broken up. He smiled automatically at the thought, but as soon as he remembered that must mean she was wearing them when...it happened, the smile vanished.   
  
"Ross..." she implored, her words coming out small and pleadingly. They broke his heart, but he could not think of any way to reply other than to nod. So he did. He had to stop himself from say 'I know', because, truthfully, he was not sure he did know.   
  
He wanted so badly- possibly more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life- to go sit beside her on the bed. Even if he didn't touch her, just to be near her would be enough. He didn't budge, though. Instead, he just leaned forward in the chair and rested his arms on his thighs. He folded his hands together, nervously fidgeting with them but never taking his eyes away from hers. He felt as if he'd be serving some great injustice to her if he had.   
  
"You wanted to talk to me?" she finally asked. The silence had been too much for her, even if it HAD been in his presence. In the past, they could have gone for hours on end without speaking. The air seemed to get colder now, though, when they went without speech, like just their words and breaths alone were warming the space between them. A huge, uncontrollable smile wiped it's way across his face unexpectedly, surprising both her and himself. He just chuckled.   
  
"Yeah, uh...heh...I guess I did say that, huh?" He had looked briefly down at his shoes, but regained his eye contact with her when he was done. She was still looking pleadingly at him, and he found it hard to retain his composure while submerged those big, wet pools of cerulean.   
  
"What do you want to know?"   
  
"How do you know I want to know anything?" he asked. He was not questioning her, but rather inquiring. She knew him too well. She just smiled plainly, but he could tell it was in spite of herself.   
  
"Tell me what it was like...please," he whispered. That was a big leap he had just taken and he knew it fully well. He had dived in, just like he had so many weeks ago into the reservoir to prove his love and dedication to her. Maybe with these words he was testing hers for him.   
  
"Ross..." she trailed off, saying his name now with skepticism and weariness. His first thought was of how tired she sounded. Not annoyed or angry...just tired.   
  
"Please," he said again, this time more firmly and beseechingly. He reached across the space between them to take hold of her hand, but just as his fingertips grazed hers, she yanked her arm back with a fierce jerk. It was almost impulsive- like she had just been waiting for him to do it so she could be prepared for it. The force was so much that it threw her weight off balance, causing her to fall back onto one arm on the bed. This seemed to embarrass her, though, so she quickly sat back up.   
  
It had happened so fast. Afterwards, they were both breathing heavily and staring blankly at once another. He realized with horror just what he had done. He had touched her. He was a man, at least two times her size and alone in a dim room with her, and he had rashly reached out to touch her. It did not matter who he was- he did not matter that he was Ross- he had still touched her, all the same, and it had shaken her so badly that her eyes were not glazed over and her face was flushed. She looked terrified. Of him.   
  
"God, Rach, I'm so sorry," he apologized, rocking back in the chair to distance himself from her a little. "I didn't think...I mean, I didn't realize..." She cut him off.   
  
"It's okay, Ross," she assured him. Her body language and breathing told him that it was not, however. He murmured a soft "fuck" to himself underneath his breath. Just when he thought they were making progress, he had gone and screwed it up. He swallowed deeply.   
  
"Will you, um...can you tell me? I mean...I want to know."  
  
"You want to know what, Ross?" she answered immediately, almost as if by reflex.   
  
"I want to know what it was like...for you. I need to know. Now knowing is the worst part," he admitted.   
  
"Yes...it is," she answered. She was speaking in riddles but he could not become frustrated or short with her.   
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean...I don't remember. I don't remember much of it at all. It was just one big blur of dizziness and pain and then it was over." She was opening up to him now, her words coming faster and louder. "I see his face sometimes in a flash, kneeling over me or- or carrying me." He listened intently, not even realizing that he was scooting towards the edge of his seat and closer to her. He saw that tears were beginning to form and she was shaking, along with her voice, but he couldn't stop her. He wanted to know. He had to. "His, um...his breath smelled like alcohol. I remember that. I remember his breath." He wanted to touch her. God, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to make it better for her, somehow. "He took me someplace cold and dark, but laid me someplace soft. Maybe it was a bed...I don't know. From then on, I can't remember anything but the pain. This hard...rubbing, stretching pain..." She stopped.  
  
"And?" he encouraged, having to stop himself from reaching out to her. She shook her head.   
  
"I can't, Ross," she whispered, her voice jagged and shaking. She was crying openly- sobbing, even. "I can't." They remained silent for a moment, until Ross broke it with an uproar.   
  
"FUCK!" he screamed, jumping from his chair and smacking his hand hard against the wall. His bones crushed together and his skin stung, bringing tears to his eyes, but he had a feeling they had been there long before. This scared Rachel, causing her to jump back, but she was somehow comforted by the intuitive knowledge that he would not hurt her.   
  
"Ross, it's okay," she whispered, trying to calm him down. She knew it would take more than that.   
  
"LIKE HELL IT IS!" he yelled, whirling around to look at her. "If there's one thing that all of this ISN'T, Rachel, it's okay! I mean, NOTHING about ANY of this is okay!" He was pacing around her room now in front of her, his thoughts and words racing. Perhaps this was what he had been feeling all this time, and it wasn't until he was standing in front of her that he could verbalize it. "It's not okay that I wasn't enough to keep you back home! It's not okay that a bunch of idiot assholes made you feel like you had no self worth! It's not okay that that fucking PERVERT had sex with you while you were UNCONSCIOUS!" He was yelling now. The entire neighborhood could probably hear him. He didn't care. Rachel was crying- sobbing. They both were.   
  
"Please, Ross," she begged. "Please...stop it." Tears burned his cheeks and stung his eyes, but he couldn't stop. If he could have, he would have done it for her. His heart was racing, though, and he knew it wouldn't be silenced or even calmed until he had said everything he felt.   
  
"I can't!" he yelled, his voice shaking now. "No, I've got to say this. I've got to say it just as much as you have to hear it." He paused, captured in an abbreviated reverie. He was pondering his next move. He decided upon sitting back down in the chair, only this time he scooted it closer to the bed and leaned forward. He was careful not to touch her, but he was just close enough to hear the pounding over her heart. It was racing, matching the rate at which her tears were falling.  
  
"Listen to me, Rachel," he demanded, his voice leveling out a bit, though the shaking of his hands still gave away his trepidation. She shook her head profusely, but that didn't stop him from continuing. "I did a lot of thinking while I was sitting in that hospital- more thinking than I've ever done at one time in my life. While I was sitting in that chair, I think I questioned just about everything I've ever known or believed in or loved in my entire life. I gave every single one of them up and then found them again, all within about 48 hours. Do you understand?" he asked. It was evident from the look on her face that she did not- she had no idea what he was getting at. She did not feign some divine understanding. She did not even nod passively. She just stared blankly, still shaking her head and begging him to stop his speech. She knew it would unravel her. He knew it, too. Maybe that's why he was doing it. He continued.  
  
"I even gave up on you, Rach. I said 'forget it, it's too hard'. I wanted to kill that guy and you and myself all at once. I just wanted to stop EVERYTHING that was doing this to you- to US. But do you know what I did not ONCE think, Rachel?"  
  
"Please don't do this, Ross," she pleaded through her tears and sobbing. She was still shaking her head. "Please don't do this to me."  
  
"NO!" he demanded, taking her hand again and not particularly caring if she jerked it away this time. To his surprise, she did not. "Listen, dammit! If this doesn't mean something, NOTHING does! Do you know what didn't ONCE cross my mind?"  
  
"Ross, I...I can't," she sobbed, and for a moment in looked like she wanted to collapse into his arms. He was still staring intently at her. He tugged on her arm for affect but softened his tone.   
  
"I never thought about myself. For two entire days, Rachel...I only thought about you. I only thought about us. I never ONCE considered myself as being affected by this. THAT'S how much I love you, Rachel. Never before in my life have I been able to detach myself so completely from such a personal situation and ONLY focus on the other person. It's not human nature. Humans are selfish, and I ALWAYS have been when dealing with personal experiences. Not this time, though, Rach. Not with you. I only thought about you."  
  
"Ross, this is TOO HARD!" she yelled, surprising him with her tone. This was the first time she'd raised her voice. He help steadfast to her hands, though, and didn't let her pull them away.   
  
"No it ISN'T! It's NOT too hard if you'd just let me in! Let me help you, Rachel! I've never cared about someone else before myself. I've never wanted to take the time to heal someone else- to fix THEIR problems before my own." She continued sniffling, but said nothing in protest. She was staring back at him now with an equal passion and fervor in her eyes. He had her full attention and she was not fighting it.   
  
"Hey," he whispered, even managing a small smile. "It took me all of this- your insecurities...the break-up...all of this- to realize that ALL I want is to see you happy. All I want is to MAKE you happy. All I want is to make this better for you."  
  
A smile. It was weak and it was painstaking. But it was there.   
  
"Tell me what I can do to make this better for you," he pleaded, his voice breaking in the middle. He rubbed the insides of her wrists with the pads of his thumbs, reveling in their warmth and softness. The first time he had touched her in 2 months. It would have been enough to make him cry if he hadn't been already. "Tell me what you need. Anything- it doesn't even have to be me- and I will do it."  
  
"But it is you," she whispered, shaking her head once last time and finally collapsing into him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face in his shoulder and letting all of her weight be supported my him. She was like dead weight in his arms and he loved it. He drank it in. He closed his eyes and felt it like it was the last thing he'd ever feel. And he'd be happy if it were.   
  
"It's been you for so long..." she hiccuped into his shirt, her tears soaking through the material and her words broken and jagged through her sobs. He pressed his face into her hair, smelling the coconut scent there and smiling for the first time in 2 months.   
  
"Jesus, Rachel," he whispered, his chest convulsing now as he sobbed right along with her. He dug his finger into her back and then moved them to slide around her waist, completely enveloping her. He got down off the chair, slipping to the floor. They sat there like that for some time, him with his back against the bed and her a ball of sorrow and surrender in his arms.   
  
"Make it stop, Ross," she begged several times so faintly that he barely heard her. She clawed at his arms and back and shoulders, her head still pressed firmly against his chest. "Make it go away."  
  
And he did. At least for right then- for that isolated moment in time- him being there was enough. Him holding her was enough. Him forgiving her- and maybe himself- was enough. Him crying with her stopped her thoughts from strangling her insides. Him rubbing her back and kissing her forehead and whispering that he loved her- that nothing could make him stop loving her, even the magnitude and disgustingness of this- eased the pounding in her head. The words that he had spoken- the hushed promise that he had made to always put her before himself- stirred something within her that she had thought dead from the moment The Stranger had touched her with his cold, hostile fingers. In that moment, all the gossamer insecurities and hang-ups that had presented themselves over the past few months vanished, and she was left with a consoling clarity that quieted her sobs and stopped the dizziness. Everything was clear and she suddenly rediscovered that one thing that had ALWAYS made it okay- the one thing that it had always come down to, in the end.   
  
He was Ross. And she was Rachel. And that was enough.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 13. Continued in Chapter 14. 


	14. Chapter 14: The Road Home

Title: The Road Home  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
In Re To "The Ross Of Chapter 12": I got a few reviews (one in particular) that expressed great dislike and even "disgust" for the way Ross' character was portrayed in Chapter 12. They felt that he was selfish and childlike for only considering the fact that Rachel's virginity was lost to someone else, rather than himself. Well, I have to say, I figured anyone reading this story would know Ross' character well enough, both on the show and in this story, to understand the depth of his love and commitment to Rachel. I wanted to portray him as having felt that something was lost to him- not a sexual prize to be won, but something within HER that had belonged to him. The implication of the "it" wasn't just her virginity- it was the essence of the Rachel he used to know. I didn't know some people would read it as him being selfish. That was not the intent, and I think if you reread it with the knowledge that it was not ONLY in regards to her virginity, then I think you might enjoy it more.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO   
  
"Monica?" he asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and trying to make out the form standing opposite him on the other side of the glass storm door. After giving his eyes proper time to adjust, he was able to decipher that the woman was definitely Monica, clad in an enormous poncho and getting drenched from the sheets of rain that were falling from the night sky. He looked down at his watch. 3:17 am.   
  
"Hi," she replied, holding her hand up awkwardly. He opened the glass door, reached out and pulled her inside. She drops off rain rolled off her waterproof cloak and onto the floor in the foyer as she attempted to shake herself dry. He helped her pull the whole thing off and place it on the coat rack beside the door.   
  
"What are you doing here?" he whispered, scared of waking his parents. It wasn't until then that he became very conscious of the fact that he was wearing boxers and nothing else. He crossed his arms over his chest out of habit.   
  
"I, um...Ugh, Chandler, this whole thing is driving my crazy," she finally admitted, shrugging her shoulders as if she could shake the stress and worriment away.   
  
"Uh, you're going to have to throw me a bone here, Mon. It's 3:30 in the morning. My brain doesn't start functioning until at least 8," he replied, turning to descend the stairs to his right and hoping she'd follow. She did.   
  
"All of this stuff with Rachel. I know it's really selfish of me, but between having to be her best friend through all of this and having to be Ross' sister...I think I'm going insane. I mean, it's affecting me too, you know? But I don't even have time to THINK about that."   
  
Chandler nodded and went to go sit on the small couch in his room, motioning for Monica to sit beside him. His house was a split-level and the entire downstairs served as his basement. He had not had time to turn the light on before answering the door, so they sat and talked in complete darkness.   
  
"Well," he offered, smiling at her through the pitch of the room, "you can think about it now. Tell ME how you feel."  
  
"God, I feel awful. I'm such a terrible person."  
  
"What?" he asked, obviously confused. He reached out and rubbed her arm. "Why would you say that? I don't think you have one terrible...particle in your body."  
  
"No, you don't understand. Rachel and I...we- we had this conversation a few months ago. I told her I was jealous of her- which I guess I always have been, really- and I totally made light of the fact that she was sexually harassed by that guy at the club. I think I even remember telling her she was LUCKY to have guys treat her that way..." He thought he could hear her voice begin to tremble. He couldn't see her face clearly enough, though, to tell if she was crying or not. "And now, with all of this...I just can't believe I ever said that. I feel awful!"  
  
"Aw, come here," he coaxed, pulling her into his lap on the sofa and stroking her hair and back. "It'll be okay," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sure she doesn't even remember that, sweety. You're her best friend and she knows you would never do or say anything to intentionally hurt her."  
  
Monica cried quietly against his chest for a little while and allowed him to rub her back and run his hands over her arms. She had to admit, it did make her feel a little better. Her heart began to race and she was even getting a little dizzy. Finally, she pulled away and scooted back a bit so she could look at him again.   
  
"Do you think they're going to be okay?" Chandler asked her, obviously referring to Ross and Rachel. Monica said nothing for a few seconds.   
  
"I think they love each other enough," she finally replied, not directly answering the question. They both knew the implication, though.   
  
"What's even going on with them right now? Ross told me today that when he went over there last night, they ended up having this big confrontation and it ended with her collapsing in his arms on the floor. It sounded pretty intense. He didn't say anything else, though." Monica nodded.   
  
"Yeah, Rachel called me after he left. I think she's still just really confused. She loves him so much, but then she doesn't know how to be with a man right now- any man. It doesn't matter that it's Ross. She's having a hard time with the trust issue, which is understandable. She said it's like knowing what you want and having it right there, but being too scared to reach out and touch it. It's definitely going to take time."  
  
"I hope Ross can understand that," Chandler submitted. "He's been so patient with all of this already. It's totally killing him. I mean, that guy is SERIOUSLY love sick."  
  
"I know," Monica agreed. "I've never seen anyone like them before." They were quiet for a few awkward, painfully silent moments. Finally, Chandler interrupted the reverie with a sudden, random statement.   
  
"I don't want to be like that," he stated firmly. "I don't want to end up loving someone that much and pushing them away. Or being pushed away. I guess I just believe in living in the moment more, you know?" He turned his body towards her, bringing one leg up on the couch and tucking it underneath him. "I mean, we all know how much Ross and Rachel love each other. There've never BEEN two people more meant for each other. Yet, look at them? They were scared while they were together and they're scared now that they're apart. I can't do that. I've got to take the leap while it's still there to take. Otherwise, we might never know."  
  
"We?" Monica asked, her voice louder and more surprised than she would have liked.   
  
"No! Not 'we' like 'you and me'! 'We' like...society!" He saw her face drop slightly and immediately felt bad. "Not that I DON'T mean you and me. I just meant..." He struggled to finish the sentence but realized he had no idea how to. He breathed a little easier when he saw her laughing.   
  
"Yes," she assured him, taking his hand. "I know what you meant."  
  
"So,uh...do you believe in living in the moment, Monica?" His voice got very low and velvety, the weight of the world resting imbedded in his seductive words. Her reaction was immediate.  
  
"I guess I do," she whispered in response.   
  
He smiled and leaned in to kiss her, feeling her breath on his face before their lips ever met. They both knew what was coming but neither thought of the weightiness of the action. They didn't want to end up like their friends- so in love but lost to one another. They would take the chance while it was still available to them and they would not look back with resentment or anger later on.   
  
With a kiss, they began.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Rach? Can I come in?" Monica asked, knocking on the already cracked bedroom door.   
  
"Oh, yeah, sure. I was just, uh, pretending to clean," she joked, laughing a bit nervously and smiling as her friend took a seat at her desk. "What's up?"  
  
"I, um...I think there's something I need to tell you. I'm just not quite sure how to," Monica confided. She didn't know how to confess her secret to her friend for so many reasons. For one, she felt somewhat ashamed of herself. Her actions two nights ago had been out of character for her and she didn't know how her loved ones would react. On the one hand, she knew she shouldn't care, but Rachel's opinion always mattered to her. Then, there was the added pressure of the landmine-like rape subject that stir up some mixed feelings within her friend. She took a deep breath and just said it.   
  
"Chandler and I had sex."  
  
Rachel's eyes widened and her pupils dilated. She was very obviously shocked, her breath having caught in mid breath and suspending itself. She swallowed and took a deep breath, really weighing out and considering the consequences of her friend's admission.   
  
"Wow, Mon...I don't know what to say," she admitted honestly. She DIDN'T know what to say. So many thoughts invaded her mind at once. She was surprised at herself when she realized that one of them was jealous.   
  
"Um..." she continued, trying desperately to collect her thoughts. "When? How?" She was still not sure exactly how she felt about it. She was still somewhat numb to the whole thing.   
  
"Two nights ago. I would have told you sooner, but I couldn't get out of school to come all the way into the city and I didn't want to tell you over the phone."  
  
"So it was the same night of...the same night that I...that Ross and I..." She didn't know how to finish the sentence. Honestly, she STILL wasn't sure of exactly what that night had meant. She thought it best not to think about it just yet. Something about the knowledge that Monica and Chandler had been having sex while she'd been purging all of her pent-up emotions- while she'd been surrendering herself on the floor of her room in Ross' arms- made her cringe. While she'd been crying and cursing and yelling. While she'd been fighting off a faceless, savage army of tasteless demons. While she'd had to endure the simultaneous pain and pleasure of being enveloped in- wrapped up in- the arms of the thing that was paradoxically all that she wanted but all that she'd left behind. Through it all...Monica had been giving up the very thing that Rachel had held too closely- the thing that had caused all this heartache and suffering. Monica had handed it away, just like that.   
  
"Rachel, please say something. I- I wanted to tell you before anyone else. What you think means a lot to me. Please, tell me what you think. Am I a total idiot? I mean, was this just the stupidest thing?"  
  
"No, Mon, no. You aren't an idiot." Her reaction was immediate and she only hoped she meant the words she was saying. "It- it wasn't stupid," she finished in a hushed whisper. She looked down at her lap, pensively and a bit sadly.   
  
"Well then tell me what's the matter, Rach. I know something's wrong."  
  
"It's nothing, Monica," she sighed, using her friend's full name for emphasis. "It's really...it's nothing."  
  
"Don't do this, Rach. I can't take you being disappointed in me. I'm having enough trouble coping with it as it is." Rachel looked up at Monica, catching her gaze and holding it.   
  
"Do you love him?"  
  
"Yes," Monica answered. She had not even flinched. "Yes, I love him."  
  
"Then what do I have to be disappointed about?" Rachel asked, smiling weakly. Monica smiled back and reached out to rub her friend's arm.   
  
"So you don't think it was immature? You don't think it was a mistake?" she asked. Rachel sighed deeply, her gaze seeming to fade out and unfocus. She seemed to be looking 1,000 miles into the distance over Monica's shoulder.   
  
"I think..." she began, taking a pause to stop and consider what she wanted to say. She began again after a moment. "I think that the only immature thing would have been if you had loved him and hadn't taken the chance. That would have been the only mistake. That would have been my only regret." She dropped her far-off gaze, shaking her head a little to come back to reality. "That WAS my only regret."  
  
"Aw, Rach," Monica cooed, patting her friend's shoulder. "Don't do that."  
  
"I know, I know," she replied in defense. "It's not the end of the world. It's not like we can never get it back. It's not I can NEVER be with Ross that way." She paused and looked up at her friend, a very calm serenity coming over her, like she was suddenly endowed with a very mature understanding. "But you only get one first time."  
  
"I know, sweety," Monica comforted. "But you know...maybe it will even be better this way."  
  
"How?" Rachel asked, a bit confused.   
  
"I don't know," Monica shrugged, "but maybe this was just another hurdle along the way that's only going to make it that much more worth the wait, in the end. Maybe this is what's going to make you both realize that it doesn't matter that it's THE first time...it just has to be YOUR first time."   
  
"Thanks, Mon," she sniffled, having started crying during the speech. "I just...I'm tired of pretending that I don't miss him, you know?"  
  
"Then why aren't the two of you together again?" she asked. Rachel shrugged.   
  
"God, I don't even know anymore. We're really screwed up, aren't we?" she asked, only half joking.   
  
"Well..." Monica teased.   
  
"I think I found it again the other night. Whatever it is that we lost, I think I found it. When I was crying and he was holding me...it felt like I never left. It felt like we'd never been apart," Rachel reminisced. "It was only a glimpse of it, but it was there. It hasn't gotten any weaker, I'll tell you that much. It hasn't faded at all."  
  
"Then go to him, Rachel. Just go to him. Forget all the bullshit up until now. Just go to him and tell him everything you know you're both feeling and kiss him until it stops hurting." Rachel smiled upon her friend's suggestion, basking in how nice she knew all of that would be. Suddenly, a strange empowerment came over her. She felt alive and rejuvenated. She felt a familiar strength reenter her body, lifting her from her seat on the bed.   
  
"Monica?" she asked in an enquiring voice.   
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You'd better stay here."  
  
"What? Why?"  
  
"Because someone's got to watch Jill while I'm gone," she replied, searching hectically and frantically through her dresser drawers.   
  
"Where are you going?" Monica asked, jumping up from the bed. Rachel whirled around, car keys in hand and her heart beating out of her chest. She took a deep breath and answered her friend with the only word in her vocabulary that made any sense to her.  
  
"Home."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 14. Continued in Chapter 15... 


	15. Chapter 15: The Last Beautiful Girl

Title: The Last Beautiful Girl  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
Thanks a lot to everyone who's stuck with the story thus far. I'm only anticipating 4 more chapters, but this story has kind of written itself along the way with very little consideration for my initial plans. So, who knows? I am foreseeing one more conflict, but those of you who have read any of my previous stories should know that I like happy endings. :-)  
  
Also, the same person who mentioned being "disgusted" at the Ross of Chapter 12 reviewed again to comment that Monica was the only one even approaching correct characterization. I would like to respond to this by asking that person to please read all previous prefaces to the chapters. I have explained an innumerous number of times that this story is not MEANT to be in character. If reading out-of-character portrayals isn't your thing, then I would have to wonder how you've made it thus far in my story. No, "Friends" would not ever deal with subject matter as macabre or serious as this. I understand that. No one is forcing anyone to read this story.   
  
You needed me to call you if I ever   
  
couldn't keep it all together-  
  
you'd comfort me...  
  
Ross hummed along to the tune emitting itself from the clock-radio on his bedside table. Sprawled across the bed in front of him were dozens of manila folders and packets of lineless white paper. With pen in hand, he took a deep breath and prepared himself to make possibly one of the most momentous, fated moments of his entire life. "Pick a college, son," they demanded of him. "Pick a future".   
  
Letters headed with "New York University", juxtaposed with others labeled "Cornell" and "Princeton", made his head spin. How, with everything else that was cluttering up his thoughts and mind at the moment, would he ever be able to make a decision as weighty and significant as this one? Turns out, he wouldn't have to make the choice right that moment. Before he knew what was going on, he had looked up and spanned his eyes out across the floor of his room to see Rachel standing at the top of his stairs.   
  
His heart stopped.   
  
"Hi," she whispered, her voice just barely making it across the room to meet his ear. When it did, though, it was the most sweet, angelic resonance he could ever remember hearing. He was so enamored by it that it took him a few delayed moments to even realize that her clothes were soaked through and her hair was damp and wavy, dripping with water.   
  
"Hi," he answered, the word coming out breathy with disbelief. He was frozen on his bed, his left arm holding up his weight and his eyes fixated on her. His whole body went so stiff and tense that he could feel the muscles in his back begin to spasm. He didn't care.  
  
"Can I, um...Can I get you anything?" he asked. He didn't know why. He'd really wanted to ask what was wrong, but he didn't want to assume anything. He probably could have assumed, though. There she was, mute and disheveled at his door, her mouth turned downward and her clothes plastered with rainwater to her skin. In response, she simply shook her head.   
  
"Well then, uh..." His sentence trailed off and he finally gained enough control over his muscles so he could shift his weight and sit upright, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He braced his arms at his sides. "Then, what are you doing here, Rachel?" he sighed, his voice soft and low and unthreatening, but still edgy with a hint of both frustration and caution. She shrugged her shoulders, darting her eyes up at the ceiling and letting out a small chuckle.   
  
"I don't know," she finally admitted. She looked at him now, shrugging again. "I don't know," she repeated, shaking her head this time.   
  
Her eyes locked with his and he found that he actually had to detach himself from the moment in order to coexist with her inside it. He closed his eyes, knowing perhaps too well just how blue and deep her eyes were and how soft and tan her skin was and how cool her breath but fiery her touch and he could not think of it for much longer or his heart would surely beat it's way from his chest. He could not think of her. He could not think of this. The mere suggestion of the infinite possibilities of this encounter- the insinuation of them into his mind- was too much, and if it were to fall through now, he knew that would be it for them and he could not go forward a second time on a whim or hunch that she might return to him again. This was it, and this particular "it" was far too ineffable and poignant to even allow his mind to rest and ponder it for any real length of time. So, he did not. He forgot she was even in the room, and would respond only by impulse. He had to. It was the only way to maintain his sanity.   
  
"What made you come here?" he asked impetuously. There could be no cognitive tonight- not rationality and no rhyme or rhythm. He would ask simply what came into his mind and, therefore, what he must secretly feel to be important. Still, she shook her head, but did so while drawing herself into the room and sitting on the end of the bed.   
  
"I don't know. I just felt like I had to." That was hair enough, he supposed. After all, tonight was a night of not-knowings. It had to be that way. Too much was riding on it. This was it- he somehow inextricably knew that this was the pinnacle that they'd finally had to arrive at, and if either one of them left there that night with a broken heart or with questions unanswered, there could never be anymore Ross and Rachel. They had to be impulsive and they had to be irrational and they had to not know anything.   
  
"Okay," he submitted, nodding his head slightly. Even from across the bed and with as cold and stiff as she was, he could feel the heat radiating from her body. It sent shivers up his spine. Just because they didn't KNOW for tonight didn't mean they couldn't remember- remember how they'd made each other feel, once upon a time.   
  
"I talked to Monica," she offered, hoping that the revelation would present some insight for both him and herself of how she was feeling and why.   
  
"Is that why you're here? Because she told you to come?" He sounded hurt.   
  
"Oh, Ross, no," she answered instantly. He closed his eyes at the sound of his name passing through her lips. His fingertips felt prickly, like someone was poking them with thin needles, and his stomach dropped with the force of a 200-foot change in altitude. "No one told me to come here," she continued. "I came because I wanted to. I needed to." With the last sentence, she reached the few feet across the navy comforter and found where his hand was resting on the mattress. She covered his with her own. She did not hold it or even stroke it, but simply placed it overtop. She caught him glancing down momentarily to watch the motion and she even thought she saw a weak smile emerge from his lips, but it was gone quickly and he pulled away after only a second. He rose to his feet nervously.   
  
"What's wrong?" she asked innocently. He wanted to hate her for that- for being so goddamn irresistibly sweet and beautiful- but he could not once he realized that her naiveté was not being feigned. Not tonight. Tonight, for once, she was just as confused as him. He ran both hands though his hair.   
  
"Nothing. I just, um..." He began to think but then stopped himself. No, Ross. Don't think. Don't search for the right words. Don't overanalyze. Just say it. Whatever comes out, just trust that it's what you mean.   
  
"You what?" she provoked, her eyebrow furrowed and her face contorted in confusion.   
  
"I can't, Rachel! I can't talk about this for one more goddamn second, okay?! I can't just have you COME IN HERE and start touching my hand and looking and me and making me remember all the things about you that break my heart, alright? I just..." He paused in his pacing and threw his hands up in the air. "I just CAN'T! So, if you just came here because you didn't know what else to do and you're only going to end up leaving and screwing this up forever, then let's cut through all the bullshit and just end it now." Detached. This wasn't Rachel he was talking to, now, and he had to remember that just to get through it and be able to say it. He wasn't yelling at her. He was yelling all of the things he felt for her at no one, or maybe at himself. The room had to be empty. It had to be.   
  
"Ross, I didn't come here to break your heart," she whispered, looking down at her lap.   
  
"Then why did you come here, huh, Rachel? I know, I know. 'You don't know', right? Well, you DO know! You're just too scared to say it and you're too scared to think it and you're scared of what I'LL think or say or do! Well, maybe I'll cry, Rachel, and maybe I'll hate you and maybe we'll be fucked for good but at least we'll be SOMETHING again! At least we'll both FEEL SOMETHING! So say it! Say whatever it is that you came here to say, and don't say you don't know because you DO!"   
  
He was not crying. He was on the brink, in that place that is possibly even more emotionally draining and gut-wrenching than actual tears. He could feel his stomach twist and his words spit and spatter with wavering uncertainty, and his hands shook and his pours vomited up sweat but he felt alive and desirous and...in love. So help him, God, he could feel as powerful and in control as he wanted and make all of the most eloquent of speeches, but he was so still in love with her that couldn't see straight.   
  
"I- I don't know, Ross. I don't know what to-"  
  
"But you DO!" he insisted, pounding one foot against the wooden planks of the floor. A few tears sprang from his eyes, but he paid them no mind and did not even feel them. "You DO know! You knew before you even got here tonight, and maybe you've even changed your mind since then, but just SAY IT!" It was unclear as to whether or not HE knew exactly what it was that she was feeling.   
  
"Okay!" she finally yelled back, her ferocity now matching his. She stood up, standing face-to-face with him and feelings his breath hot in her face and his heart beating through his chest and into hers and his muscles shaking. "Okay! You want to know why I came here tonight? It's because I knew, somehow, that I could never forgive myself if I let you leave this town with things between us still being the way they are now!"  
  
"Okay, that's a good start! Keep going!" he yelled, tears now falling freely to match hers.   
  
"And because I'm not my father and you're not my mother! Because you could have so easily hated me and resented me and pushed me away though all of this but you didn't! Because you came to visit me in the hospital and never left even AFTER I broke your heart! Because you jumped into the reservoir! Because you got jealous over Joey!" She was sobbing now, and while she did pause briefly, she extenuated her last point but poking him lightly in the chest as she said it.   
  
"But most importantly, Ross? Most importantly, because you're Ross and I'm Rachel and that's the only thing that will ever make any sense," she finally finished.   
  
When she was done, she collapsed against his chest. He had somehow subconsciously anticipated it and immediately encircled her with his arms. He buried his face into her hair and inhaled deeply, getting drunk on the familiar yet achingly remote scent. He nodded.   
  
"Good," he whispered, kissing her hair and forehead and cheeks. "That's all you had to say."  
  
This time was different from the previous night they'd spent wrapped up in each other. This time did not feel so cumbersome and rigid. There was a distinct comforting familiarity about his arms and her smell and the way their bodies fit together so perfectly in a limp surrender. They did not sway or even dare to breath deeply. They were both content to stand there silently and allow the enormity of what had so nearly been lost stretch out before them and sink into them. Slowly but surely, he began to reattach himself. The distance he had needed just to get through that seeped back into him and he clung to it, hoping that it would allow him transference of himself more deeply into her.   
  
"Shh," he cooed, rocking her in his arms. "It's over now." Even as he said the words, he smiled, knowing that they were true. Even if they had to start all over again, he knew that the worst had passed. This was someplace to build from. They had come together again, somehow.   
  
In that coming together, though, he saw it necessary for her to come apart and he was happy to aid in her undoing. She needed to rebuild herself after such a violent purging of emotion. He moved his hands down her body and stripped her slowly of her clothes, allowing them to drop heavily into a damp pile on the floor. Once she was disrobed down to her bra and underwear, he took a few selfish moments for himself to remember with his eyes and fingers just how she had been. How she had looked and what she'd made him feel and how alive she'd made him become- the experience of her allowing him to see her this way.   
  
He crawled with her beneath the covers after stripping down to his boxers and drew her near to his body. She wrapped her arms around his middle and he felt her fingers press into the flesh of his back. He couldn't stop running his hands over her body, even when the drowsy, incessant pressure of fatigue began to weigh him down. His hands still continued to move in circular motions along her back and waist, and an occasional hand would find it's way to her stomach just to rub it and press against it.   
  
"I'm so sorry," is all that she would say and "I know" is all that he could respond with.   
  
But it was good and it was real and it was them. Again. Finally.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 15. Continued in Chapter 16. 


	16. Chapter 16: All Who Wander

Title: All Who Wander  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
The reasoning behind the title of this chapter is two-fold. First of all, it alludes to the big revelation made in this chapter about Mr. and Mrs. Green's former relationship. You could interpret the "wandering" in two different lights there, I suppose- physically and emotionally. Secondly, it's an allusion to the song, having to do with Rachel having "wandered" away from Ross but having never actually been lost and in fact needed that time to come full circle and find herself back with him.  
  
Dealing with something more mechanical, someone e-mailed me and asked what the difference between the implications of "..." and "-" were when it came to someone's vernacular. The "..." tend to denote a suspended pause, usually allotting time for thinking or trailing off. Meanwhile, the "-" (dash) illustrates a hesitance or stuttering over the word, usually in moments of seriousness or intensity. Hope that clears things up, if it wasn't already obvious.   
  
Please note the R rating.  
  
"Rachel!" Amy called out at an earsplitting decibel. "Pick up! It's mom!"   
  
Rachel wrapped a towel around herself, quickly shook out her damp hair and raced barefoot across the carpeted hallway into her bedroom. She eagerly picked up the receiver, her heart pounding. She hadn't talked to her mother in months.   
  
"Mom?" she whispered, her loud breath reverberating through the headset. She played nervously with the frayed pieces of cloth that hung down from the edge of her towel.   
  
"Yes, sweety, it's me! How have you been?" The first thing she noticed about her mother's tone was how upbeat and chipper, even, it was. She sounded healthy and motivated and...happy. Rachel's jaw hung open and she was unable to form an intelligible sentence or even one coherent thought. It was like a cold, stinging slap across her face. The first time she could remember her mother ever sounding REALLY happy- really enthusiastic- and she wasn't even in the same time zone with her. It hurt. A lot.   
  
"Uh, they've been...things have been..." She struggled with the words. Her mind was flipping through a catalogue of other emotions and obscure memories. How could she ask that question? Had she not heard about anything that had happened over the past few months? Rachel forgot what she was even trying to say momentarily, but quickly snapped herself back to reality and answered her mother's questions as honestly but vaguely as possible. "Things have been eventful."  
  
"Look, dear," she said, her voice coming down and getting significantly more serious. "I want to talk about what happened." Convenient, Rachel thought. NOW she wants to talk about it. Funny that she didn't want to talk about it when Rachel was laying up in the hospital, or when she was estranged from Ross, or when she was having to deal with all of those things with two fairly indifferent sisters in an unfamiliar apartment in the middle of an apathetic city that did not know her by name. Now, when her life was finally starting to show some semblance of what it had once been, Sandra Green wanted to do a little digging up of ghosts she'd already buried once. She was not up for doing it again. She closed her eyes tightly, squeezing off a single tear that slid down her cheek and landed to rest on the hem of her towel.   
  
"Mom..." she pleaded, shaking her head as if her mother could actually see her.   
  
"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry I didn't come out. You'll never know just how sorry I am for that. I'll even understand if you can never forgive me. I don't know if I'll ever really forgive myself." She continued to ramble, but Rachel was immune to this type of empty chatter from her mother and began to tune it out after a while. She did not blame her mother for not coming out. She already blamed her for most of the other fucked up aspects of her life. She had no reason to add something as silly and miniscule as a plane ticket to the pile.   
  
"Don't worry about it, Mom," she placated. "I'm getting along fine here with Amy. Everything...everything's fine." She cringed at the phrase. How many times would she have to say those words until they would finally become true?  
  
"I talked to Monica, dear. She's been keeping me up to date. What's this I hear about you and Ross?" UNBELIEVABLE, Rachel screamed inside her head. Her mother couldn't possibly care less about Ross (or any of her boyfriends, for that matter) until the day comes when the relationship is sabotaged and must be rebuilt on a rocky foundation. Her mother- the scavenger and excavator off all things painful and depressing.   
  
"Mom, please," she begged. "Can we talk about something else? That's...well, I don't really know what that is right now, besides a touchy subject, so can we just...not go there?"  
  
"Rachel, this is important," her mother persisted, and the determination caught Rachel's attention, as well as the use of her first name. "I think I never made some things clear. What I mean is...I think there are some things you don't know about your father and me- some things you don't fully understand."  
  
"What are you talking about?" Rachel asked, shifting the phone from one ear to the other.   
  
"At first, when Monica told me that you and Ross had split up, I thought maybe it had been his doing. I thought he had, oh, I don't know, gotten the 'college bug' or something and his head had maybe just blown up and he'd decided to move on. When she told me it had actually been your doing, thought, I was more than a little shocked. I know you think I don't see you or take interest, Rachel, but I do. I know how much he meant to you."  
  
"Means, Mom," she quickly corrected. "He'd not dead."  
  
"Yes, well, that's not the point. The point is...You see, Monica told me...Rachel, did you end things with Ross because you thought you'd just end up like your father and me? Divorced?"  
  
"It's much more complicated than that, Mom," she spat, surprised at her own bitter tone. She knew she was lying, though. It really wasn't complicated at all. In fact, it had been exactly as her mother said.   
  
"Oh, sweety," she empathized, "you can't do that. You can't compare every relationship you have to your father's and mine. You'll just make yourself miserable if you do that. We are far from the prototype."  
  
"Great," Rachel mumbled. "Just what every teenager wants to hear about their parents- that they were screwed from the beginning."  
  
"Rachel, let me tell you the story of your father and me- not the story you THINK you know, or the ones you might half make up and piece together from those old picture albums I know you look through- but what really happened. It's very important to me that you know. I think, from the sound of things, it's very important to you, too." Rachel didn't say anything. She remained quiet on her end of the line. She had to feign disinterest in her mother's story, because she was a teenager and all teenagers must feign interest in anything their parents ever say or do. Truth be told, though, she was physically trembling in anticipating of her mother's revelation.   
  
"The week after your father and I graduated from high school, he was drafted and left immediately for Saigon. He only had a week's notice. We were going to travel that summer, before leaving for college. We were going to take a road trip and sleep on the side of the road and backpack through forests and mountains and oceans. We had big plans, Rachel, big plans."  
  
"I know dad was drafted, Mom. None of this is new to me."  
  
"Just wait," is all she replied with, with more confidence than Rachel had ever heard from her mother. "We obviously never got to have our road trip, and one rainy Saturday morning, I drove with your father and grandmother and grandfather to the pick-up and waved goodbye to him and made him promise to write."  
  
"Did he?" Rachel asked, surprised at her sudden interest in the story but simultaneously feeling ashamed and disappointed for having let onto that interest.   
  
"Yes, he did," she replied, and Rachel could hear the momentary smile and uplifting giddiness in her mother's tone upon recalling the memory. "He wrote. He wrote at least once a week- sometimes more. He wrote until I almost got tired of reading all the letters. Then, I regretted ever feeling that way, because one day...the letters just stopped."  
  
"What happened?" Rachel asked, having given up now on faking any sort of detachment.   
  
"Well, we thought he'd died. Or, perhaps that he'd gone AWOL or missing somewhere in the jungle. We feared the worst and waited for some sort of letter or conciliatory officer visitation. One never came, though." There was a silence for a few minutes.  
  
"Then, one day, just as easily and surreally as he'd walked out of our lives, he walked back in. He showed up at the door without so much as a warning."  
  
"Is that when he started being...well, Daddy?" Rachel asked. She could tell her mother was shaking her head and smiling. She just sensed it. She didn't know how.   
  
"No, not at first. At first, he was just as loving and warm and fun as the day he left. We picked back up just where we'd left off, and before I knew it, he'd proposed to me."  
  
"And you said 'yes'?" Rachel asked. She even, oddly enough, found HERSELF smiling.   
  
"Of course I said 'yes'," Sandra replied. "But then...then something happened that has forever changed your father's and my relationship. He told me...he told me about..."  
  
"What, Mom?" she asked, obviously quite confused and even a little worried. She was rapidly becoming quite the opposite of disinterested in what her mother was saying.   
  
"Honey, your father had met someone."  
  
"WHAT!?" Rachel asked, jumping up from her seat on the bed. Her towel almost fell completely to the floor, and though she was the only one around, she dropped the phone amongst the commotion in order to keep her it from dropping.   
  
"Yes, honey. He'd met someone. Apparently, one of his nights off, he'd gone out with two of his buddies and woken up the next morning with more than he'd signed on for."  
  
"Was he...Did he...Was he in love with her?" Rachel asked, her voice cracking.   
  
"Oh, sweety, are you ever asking the wrong person THAT question. He was very vague about the entire ordeal and would never answer anything directly. I suppose that means he was, but I stopped asking after a while. Don't think there hasn't been a day that's gone by since, though, that I haven't wondered. He never even told me her name."  
  
"But Mom!" Rachel shouted, "How COULD he? And you still MARRIED him after that?"  
  
"Oh, dear," Sandra sighed deeply. "See, this is the part you never knew about. This is the part you'd never understand."  
  
"So you just forgave him? Just like that?"  
  
"This is the essence of your father and me, Rachel. I don't know if there ever was any forgiveness. I don't know if there's even any today. There comes a point, though, when things mean more than that. You get to a certain age, and a certain stage in your life, and you start to see things and feel things stronger than forgiveness- things like acceptance and surrender. I accepted your father after that day, but I don't know if I ever really forgave him or loved him again. He did break my heart. Let there be no question of that. We had a life to live, though, and it was a different time. I married him because that was the thing to do."  
  
"So why did you divorce him, then?" Rachel whispered, her voice small again.   
  
"Because that was the thing to do," Sandra answered simply. "When the new generation came along and divorce was more accepted, I knew I had no reason to stay anymore. I waited a little while, secretly hoping that maybe he would give me a reason, but knowing that he never would. And he didn't."  
  
"Oh, Mom," Rachel whispered, shaking her head and crying openly now. "I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."  
  
"No, silly girl," Mrs. Green scolded playfully. "Don't say that. Don't be sorry. I got my three girls out of it, didn't I?"  
  
"But, Mom, you lost so much of your life. There were so many things you never did- you never GOT to do. Doesn't that make you sad at all?"  
  
"That's what I'm doing here. That's also why I couldn't come back when I got that phone call from the hospital. I had just settled in here and started my new life, and I know it's terribly selfish of me, but I just couldn't make myself go back there and see you that way. You- the daughter I'm the most proud of, and the one who got his eyes- in a hospital bed. It was just too much, sweety. I hope someday you'll understand."  
  
"I understand, Mom." And she did. For once, she was not lying when she uttered those words.   
  
"So, then," Sandra continued, raising her voice a bit in both volume and tone, "I guess that brings us to the present. What are you doing about this boy, Rachel?"  
  
"I don't know, Mom. Things got so complicated so quickly."  
  
"Things often do with love," Sandra offered.   
  
"But, Mom, I said and did some stupid, STUPID things. I just...I ruined it. I think we're on our way, but it just seems impossible to get it back to where it was."  
  
"Well, I'm no expert at all this love business, but one thing I DO know is that you are NOTHING like me, sweety. You are much more grounded than I was at your age. What you have with Ross...well, don't let your father and I sway you, Rachel. We were much, much different. Don't let this boy slip away from you because of the sins of your father, so to speak. If he's still hanging around after all of this, he's got to be something special."   
  
"He is," she affirmed, feeling a smile tug at her lips. "He is...something else."  
  
"Does he know that? Does he know you still feel that way?"  
  
"I don't know. He used to. We've talked and I think things are on their way back to normal, but...I just don't know."  
  
"Well go let him know, dear. Let him know how special he is to you."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"I got my acceptance letter today," Chandler said, throwing the thick white envelop onto Ross' bed for his friend to see. "Since I didn't apply for early decision, I just found out."  
  
"Wow, that's great, man! Way to go!" Ross congratulated, picking up the envelop and examining it's contents.   
  
"So you still haven't decided?" Chandler asked, sitting down at his usual spot opposite his friend on the desk chair. Ross shook his head, carefully handing the envelop back to Chandler.   
  
"No," he answered softly. He rubbed both hands over his face and back through his hair. He left his eyes closed for a moment and exhaled deeply. "It's just such a headache, ya know?" Chandler nodded.   
  
"No, trust me, I can imagine. I was just lucky to know where I wanted to go all this time." At this, Ross sat down on the bed facing Chandler. He leaned towards his friend, hunched over in an anticipatory position and obviously very invested now in the conversation.   
  
"So you're telling me that you never even CONSIDERED anywhere else? You never wanted to...I don't know, get out of New York?" Ross asked. Chandler just shook his head, staring into his eyes.   
  
"I guess I'm just not that kind of guy. I like it here. I'm not particularly crazy about seeing my parents all that much, but you've got to love the city. Plus, you know...there's Monica." Chandler looked down sheepishly, uncertain of the way Ross would react.   
  
"Chandler, you don't have to be ashamed. I know how you feel about my sister," he assured. "I think you guys have got...you know...something really special."   
  
The two friends shared a silent, knowing moment. The silent implication of Ross' statement was weighing heavily in the air, though. Truth be told, both boys knew just what Ross was thinking when he said that. In affirming and condoning his best friend's now serious relationship with his younger sister, he was only drawing attention to the increasingly ambiguous and entropic nature of his own with Rachel. His sister had given Chandler good reason to stay in New York. The two were inseparable and on the verge of giving new meaning to Webster's definition of "functional". They meshed. They melded. They seemed joined at the hip and welded together by the most conventional, efficient, "normal" forces Ross had ever seen. They fit. They worked.   
  
Then, he would come home some nights after playing his habitual role of third wheel on one of Chandler and Monica's patented Friday night dates, that he had only really been invited to out of pity, and he would collapse onto his bed and drown in a pool of introspection that would only ever lead to a sleepless night filled with worriment and questioning. His relationship with Rachel became exponentially more confusing and vague by the day, and now he could almost see in his mind the bare marionette threads that were still clinging together and holding up their future. They had a future He knew that much. Some days he thought he only knew it because it was simply unfathomable in his mind to conceive of a future without her. Other days- more optimistic days, when she would stumble up into his room and their eyes would meet or she would allow him to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear or even graze her fingers with his- he thought there might be a more substantial reasoning for his assurance. Maybe there was something so profound, idiosyncratic and serendipitous about them- such a fine, unfathomable air- that it would be years from now before he could actually look back and pinpoint exactly the moment their lives started to make sense again. He doubted, but hoped, that years would be adequate.   
  
"Hey, man, it isn't so bad, you know," Chandler condoled, reaching out and lightly punching Ross on the shoulder. "I mean, what've you got here? Acceptance letters from..." He reached behind him on the desk and picked up the stack of mail wedged in beside an upright notebook. "...Cornell, Stanford, George Washington, Boston and Yale?" Chandler threw the pile on the bed in front of Ross and smirked. "Yeah, boy, things are just bad all over."  
  
"I know, I know, I should quit being such a pansy about it," Ross admitted, nodding his head. He shrugged. "It's just a big step, ya know? I mean, it's- it's the future."   
  
"I know," Chandler agreed, nodding along with his friend sympathetically. Suddenly, he sat up erect in his chair upon realizing something and furrowed his brow at his friend. "Haven't you heard about NYU, yet?" Ross laid back on his bed and extended his arm back over his head, reaching for a stray envelop on his nightstand. He sat back up and handed it to his friend, hunching his shoulders over and nodding.   
  
"Yup. I got it about a month ago, actually- right in the middle of all this shit. I didn't open it."  
  
"What?" Chandler asked, his voice cracking with the sudden change in tone and decibel. "You aren't going to?"  
  
"No, no, I am," Ross assured, taking it back from his friend and setting it beside him on the bed. He looked down at it for a moment with an intense gaze and then snapped himself out of it to look back up at Chandler. "I just, uh...This one's different." He stated the last part so simply that Chandler almost forgot that it required more explanation. After a beat, though, he got it.   
  
"Ah, I see. Well, I'd hate to ruin a good suspense thriller by giving away the ending, but I don't think there much of a point in holding out until the end on this one. You KNOW you got in, Ross." Ross smiled plainly and chuckled once.   
  
"Yeah...maybe." After another beat, he picked up the envelop and stood, circling around to the head of his bed and placing the letter in the bedside drawer this time. He turned around to see Chandler standing also.   
  
"Well, I can't wait, so I'm just going to be one of those assholes who walks out in the middle. I hope that's okay with you," he joked, smiling and shoving his hands into his pockets. Ross smiled back and nodded.   
  
"Yeah, I'll catch you later, man" he promised. He turned and descended the stairs, his hands still pushed inside his pockets and the collar on his Polo shirt popped up. Ross free-fell backwards, the cushiony mattress giving away beneath his frame and breaking his fall. He stared up unalterably through the celebrated skylight. Rain. Again.   
  
For so much of his life, he had love the rained. He had welcomed it when others shuttered and rolled their eyes, pulling their sweatshirt hoods up over their heads and reaching for their umbrellas. Now, though, he shuttered along with the world. It seemed to him that every inalienable controversy and evil in his life accompanied each rain. Even those times that he'd been lying there with Rachel at his side, carefree as the day he'd been born and as content as a jaybird, the legendary Morning After had always followed. Be it a fight or a break-up or just some unshakable feeling of impending doom, the morning after a rain was anything but cleansing.   
  
Something occurred to him in that moment, though, and it made him hate the rain just a bit less. Some rather profound revelation flew unexplainably into his mind with such a threatening brevity that he had to be certain that he understood it immediately and thoroughly before it flew back out again. It was difficult to grasp it, though, because it was like a picture. It was not a concept or a word or even a string of words. It was like a serene calmness that was too powerful and soul-clenching to dismiss as an emotion. It was like a premature epiphany that didn't have time to develop into an actual conception. It washed over him and relaxed every muscles in his body, sending a tingly loftiness through his veins. He even found himself smiling after a few moments. It was an absolution. He had no idea where it'd come from, but it was there, filling him up like an empty gas tank. He had the sudden sense that, sometime in the near future, he would be doing something so weighty and important that it would lift his entire reason for existence up one level.   
  
Then that reason for existence appeared at the top of his stairs and the epiphany brushed her shoulder on its way out.   
  
He shot up instinctively from the bed, landing with his feet planted firmly against the wood of the floor. She was not wet this time, nor were her clothes unkempt or her lungs searching for breath. She was as carefully perfect as usual. He let her name escape his lips in a whisper, but she could hear it from across the room. She blinked once and tilted her head slightly to the side.  
  
"Uh...hey," he finally said, crossing his arms across his chest nervously. She smiled. She smiled a smile so sweet and naive and fragile that it just made him want to stroke her hair. He had no idea why THAT was the first impulse that the smile provoked. It just was.   
  
"Hi," she whispered. It seemed that lately all of her words came in whispers. She was like that, though. That was a Rachel thing. Only she could speak in whispers 24 hours a day and drive him crazy with the velvety sensuality of it. It was a goddamn WHISPER, but it made his knees buckle. He gulped.   
  
"So, um...when are you moving back?" Small talk. After all this, they were back to square one- struggling for small talk. She just smiled again and shook her head. She stepped the few feet towards him and softly grasped his wrists with her hands. The touch was painfully faint but it was there. He could see it with his own two eyes. He looked up at her and sensed that same calm knowingness to her that he had experienced just a few moments before her arrival. Perhaps it had not brushed her shoulder on the way out, but had absorbed itself into her. Transference. That's all he ever really wanted with her. She put one finger to her lips and made a soft "shh" sound.  
  
"Let's not talk about that, okay? It doesn't matter. Let's only talk about what matters." He furrowed his brow, obviously very confused. He just nodded, though. It was all he could do. He could only give her what she wanted. It was a gift and a curse.   
  
"Aright...What matters, then?" He only hoped he wasn't being incredibly obtuse in asking that. Was this a rhetorical statement. Was he supposed to know what the important things were? Was this one of those trick questions that girls used to trap guys? Rachel was good at those.   
  
Before he had time to consider it for any longer, though, her hands were on either side of his face and her lips were warm and soft on his. He was stunned for a moment and unable to close his eyes to take in the sensation of it, like he always had in the past. Instead, he froze, gripping his hands into fists at his side and trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. He had been deprived of her touch for so long- of her kiss- that he had blocked it off inside his minds. It only took him a few precious seconds to sink back into it, though, and when he did, it slid over him like melted honey. And her hands played along.  
  
"Wait, wait," he whispered, reaching up and taking her wrists in his hands. This caused her to pull away from him just far enough to look him in the eyes, but just kept her hands pressed firmly into his cheeks with his hands still around her wrists. He gulped deeply, their hearts being rapidly in unison and their breaths coming harshly into the space between them.   
  
"What?" she whispered back, daring him to question this but also terrified that he would. "Is this okay?"  
  
"What?" he questioned in the form of a low, breathy chuckle. His eyes lit up and dimples formed at the edges of his mouth. "Of course- of course this is okay. Just...I don't understand. What happened? Why now?" His hands were still on her wrists, but they were subconsciously making slow circled on the soft underside of them now.   
  
"Does it matter?" she asked, biting her lip.   
  
"Yes," he whispered, nodding slightly. "It matters a lot."  
  
"Why?" she asked, obviously a bit embarrassed. "Here I am. I'm back. We're back."  
  
"I know," he smiled and nodded. "I know, and it's great. It'-it's more than great. It's the only thing I want...but it can't be for the wrong reasons, Rach. It can't be." She swallowed deeply and nodded, too.   
  
"Okay," she said slowly, letting him know that she was on board with what he was saying. "Then how about it's because I talked to my mom? I know why my parents didn't work out, now, and it's not us, Ross. They're not us. That man in the club wasn't you. The man who...well, he wasn't you, either. I figured that out. The dreams, the divorce...none of it has anything to do with us. Is that a good enough reason?"  
  
"You got all that from one conversation with your mom and I couldn't convince you in a matter of months?" She smiled and shrugged.   
  
"Hey, I came around, didn't ? You want to finish this kiss or not?"  
  
"Yes, ma'am" he answered, deciding that his questions had been sufficiently answered for now. All that mattered was that he was holding Rachel and kissing her for the first time in months without the presence of guilt or confusion or depression. It was just them. They were the way they used to be for the first time in forever. They were the way they were SUPPOSED to be.   
  
She pushed them backwards as she advanced on him and he let his hands fall from her on his face down to her waist. He pushed them up under his shirt to press them against her back, crushing her to his chest. By the time the backs of his knees hit the mattress, their tongues were fighting for control of the kiss and they fell backwards together onto the bed.   
  
He moaned up into her mouth when she slid her thighs down his sides. He ran both hands down her back and over her ass, then back up again and into her hair, finally letting them come to rest on her thighs. She shifted her weight forwards and backwards as she kissed him, rubbing herself over his crotch. He stopped.   
  
"Hey," he whispered. "Let's take it easy, okay? I don't want this to end like last time." He had to remind her- as well as himself- that things weren't going to just stop being difficult because they were back in each other's arms.   
  
"I don't want things to end at all," she replied, looking into his eyes and hoping that he'd understand. He ran his hands lightly over her thighs in a motion similar to the way you'd run your hands together over a fire in the winter to keep them warm. It was a comforting motion, rather than a sexual one.   
  
"Are you sure? I mean, are you really, really sure?" he asked, obviously trying to maintain his cool demeanor and conceal his excitement. She couldn't help but smile at his stereotypical boyishness. She leaned down and took his face between her hands again, coming in close and placing a small kiss on his nose.   
  
"Ross? Sweety? This is real. Everything else is over. I want to do this. I want to do this with you...right now." She extenuated this point by kissing him once softly on this lips. He kept his eyes closed when she pulled away, capable of doing nothing but nod in agreement. She sat back up erectly and he ran his hands over her arms as she pulled up. Her hair fell down over her shoulders and a piece or two hung in front of her down-turned face.   
  
He took a deep breath in preparation. Nervously shaking a bit, he used his upper body strength to lift his torso from the bed and pull his shirt up over his head. By the time he'd flung it onto the floor and came to rest his back against the mattress again, his breathing had already quickened and the muscles in his stomach were contracting and spasming. She repeated his motion, but more slowly. She lifted the garment up and off and let it fall haphazardly onto the bed.  
  
His eyes locked with her bottomless pools of bluish green , then moved down to survey the rest. Her chest was heaving heavily above the lavender bra and her stomach was tensing and relaxing in rhythm below it. He couldn't stop himself from sliding his hands up her thighs, over her stomach, up her sides, onto her shoulders and finally into her hair; that long, flowing, velvety, golden hair. She leaned down and put her mouth to his ear.   
  
"You're going to have to help me, okay?" she whispered. He could feel her shaking. He moaned.   
  
"Help you with what?"  
  
"I want to do this, Ross, but it's going to be hard. The last time...the last time wasn't ideal," she reminded him. Oh. He finally understood. Of course it would be difficult for her. He'd have to take his time. He'd have to be careful of what he did and what he touched and when. It would be almost painful for him, he could tell, but he had to do it for her.   
  
"I'm not going to hurt you, Rachel. I'll be careful," he promised, turning her head and kissing her lips once. She surprised him when she voluntarily deepened it.   
  
"I know." She patted him on the chest once and let him turn her over so that he was lying on top of her. Slowly, holding eye contact with her all the while, he slid his hand down her stomach and unzipped her pants. He waited patiently for her to wiggle out of them, but his pulse was racing and his palms were sweaty and he was struggling to hold himself up on his forearms.   
  
Before long, she was laying underneath him in only her underwear, as he'd unhooked her bra and flung it aside shortly after her pants. He was mortified at out scared and small she looked. She looked nervous and anxious, and those were the last things he wanted her to be. He bent his neck and moved down her body to place a firm kiss on her stomach. He looked up at her.   
  
"Are you okay?" he asked concernedly. She nodded and smiled weakly, obviously out of breath.   
  
"Yeah...I'm okay," she assured. He smiled back at her and let his weight fall down, resting his chin on her stomach so that he could still see her.  
  
"We could just stay like this for a while if you want," he suggested, still wanting to take things as slowly as possible. She smiled, touched by his sensitivity and care. She ruffled his hair and then slid her hands over his shoulders, which were the only part of his back she could reach.   
  
"No, sweety, it's okay." She knew this excited him, though he'd never show it.   
  
She motioned for him to scoot back up her body and he obeyed willingly. When he was positioned over her again, she reached up with two shaky hands and began unfastening his belt. His eyes never left hers. He wanted to make sure she was okay the entire time. If there were ever a moment when she faltered- when she panicked- he was going to know. He would stop.   
  
He gulped deeply and closed his eyes to regain composure when she unzipped his pants and began pulling them off his hips. He through them to the side after they were removed and was, for some nameless reason, almost embarrassed at how obvious his arousal was through only his boxers. She had seen him like this hundreds of times before, but this was supposed to be about her and he somehow felt that he was taking from that. When she pressed her palm against him through his boxers, though, he moaned and every thought flew from his head.   
  
"It's okay," she giggled, loving the power she had over him. He almost shivered at the combination of her smooth, throaty voice and her touch.   
  
He dipped his head and paced a kiss on her mouth, inviting her tongue in and deepening it when she bent her knees and cradled his body with hers. She wrapped both her arms and legs around him, molding and pulling him to her. Their tiny moans and whimpers meshed together around them and got captured in the sheets.   
  
"Hey," he finally whispered, pulling away a bit before they got carried away too quickly. He kissed her one more time quickly and then rolled off of her. "I need to go get a condom." She nodded and let him leave. He crossed the room to the bathroom on the other side and she wondered why he hadn't had any in the bedside drawer. No time for questioning that now, though. Before she knew it, he was back with the package in his hand.  
  
He slid back into the bed and she welcomed him into her arms. They went sans sheets because it was rather hot and muggy in his room, and on her back, Rachel looked at the overhead skylight to see fog collecting on the windows. He began kissing down her body, stopping every few inches to take care and pay special attention to that designated area. His tongue moved over her skin as she arched her back and clenched her muscles.  
  
Finally, he reached her underwear.   
  
He stopped and looked up at her with eagerness and anticipation, but her eyes were sealed tightly shut and she was biting down on her tongue. He smiled and took that as sanction. Gradually, he pulled the small slit of fabric from her body until she was completely naked beneath him. He had never seen her looking so small.   
  
She seemed awkward and uncomfortable. She never had before, but then again, they had never had just intimate contact with such high standards and expectations proceeding them. He lowered himself on her and nuzzled her neck and shoulders, kissing her there and blowing lightly into her ear.   
  
"It's okay," he assured, running the hand that wasn't holding him up down her shoulder and over her hand. "You're beautiful. Everything's okay."  
  
"Finally," he thought he heard her say. He couldn't be sure, though. Either way, he nodded in agreement. Finally. Everything was okay. Finally.  
  
He felt her hands slid down to his hips and stop at the waistband of his boxers. Just the implications of this made his heart jump and sent chills over his body. His groin tightened and he had to stifle a moan. Timidly, she tugged at them until they slid down his thighs and he had to get up and raise to a kneeling position to remove them completely. Nothing about any of this had been smooth so far. It had all been very mechanical and discomfited, but at least it had been together and at least it felt good. It felt right.   
  
She took the time that he was kneeling beside her on the bed to admire him in the moonlight- the muscles in his upper thighs, the definition in his stomach, the broad expanse of skin stretched across his chest, the contracting and shifting of his biceps. He was so beautiful to her. She would never understand how he could be so jealous and insecure about other guys hitting on her.   
  
Now, with both of them entirely naked, he lowered himself back down over her and waited for her to bend her knees to fit around him. She did...and it felt perfect. He couldn't believe that they hadn't been doing this all alone. Even without the actual act of sex, he basked in how incredible it felt to be this close to her.   
  
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, brushing a piece of hair away from her eyes. She nodded and smiled weakly, but tears were building in the corners of her eyes. He only prayed they weren't from fear or regret. "Why are you crying?" He'd had to ask. She shook her head.   
  
"No, it's um...it's nothing," she reassured. She let out a puff of laughter and reached up to wipe away the tears. He stopped her, though, and pushed her hand away. Instead, he reached used the pad of his own thumb and brushed the salty liquid from her cheeks. Then, to dispose of any traces, he kissed her there.   
  
"Ross..." she whispered, looking him straight in the eyes. "Please..."  
  
Without any further delay, he shifted his weight onto his left arm and used his right hand to reached between them and guide himself to her. After a moment or two of nervous fumbling and hesitation, he slid into her with an even but tense stroke. Her legs clenched around him and they both groaned in unison, squeezing their eyes shut and neither daring to move.   
  
"Are you still okay?" he somehow manages to whisper through clenched teeth, only hoping that he could even understand her answer when she gave it. She said nothing, though, and instead simply nodded. "Is it okay if I move?" he asked, nuzzling her cheek again and content with being conscious of nothing but how it felt to be inside her and have her legs pressed against him and her hands running over his back. She groaned and shifted a bit but conceded, hugging him a bit more tightly to her and squeezing her legs more firmly against him.   
  
He raised his hips and then sank them back down again, pushing himself in and out of her. The feeling was indescribable, so he chose not even to think about it. Then, with the flicker and switching on of a light bulb inside his brain, he realized that this was what the earlier epiphany had been about. This was that extraordinary thing he would soon be doing- being with her the way she needed and helping her overcome her fear. He was comforting her- and himself- and that was all he ever really needed to do. The rest had always been up to her.   
  
He proceeded to talk to her- to let her know that this was him and he would never hurt her. All she needed was the familiar sound of his voice to reassure her that this was real- this was him and her together and it was OH so different than the last time. This was the only first time she needed or wanted.   
  
He increased his pace and she raised herself up to meet him. He could feel the sweat beginning to accumulate on her skin and he bent his mouth down to her neck to taste the saltiness of it. Then, he closed his mouth over hers. The kiss was deep but tender to match their movements, mirroring the way their bodies were sliding together. It had only been a few minutes, but he could already feel the familiar tightening that always began in his stomach. He cursed himself, begging and pleading and praying to hold out longer- for an eternity- but first times were hardly ever perfect and this was to be expected.   
  
It was over quickly after it began and they fell together in a mass of tangled limbs and skin, heaving and panting and sweating. He stayed cradled in the cocoon of her bent knees, cuddled tightly against her warm skin. From where he was lying with his ear to her chest, he could feel and hear her heart pounding. She ran her hands over the icy-hot skin of his back and allowed him to run his fingers through her hair. They didn't speak again that night and they fell asleep together only minutes after.   
  
It was the prototype for every first time- awkward, clumpy, nervous and quick. It wasn't mind-blowing or record-breaking. It didn't bring tears to their eyes. Instead, it was a quiet absolution. It was a reckoning of two people- two souls- that lost their way for a bit, but were able to find each other in the end. It was a relinquishing of all hang-ups and insecurities- all secrets and skeletons. It did not have to be their best time. It only had to be the first. It was perfect for what it was, not what it could have been. It had already been forgotten, the world having already moved on to a thousand other first times just waiting to begin or end. To them, though- within the quiet wooden confines of that room- it would be forever remembered. It would live in the annals of THEIR relationship- of THEIR lives- and that was enough. That was all it ever had to be.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 16. Continued in Chapter 17. 


	17. Chapter 17: How This Felt

Title: How This Felt  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
Alright, I bet you've been wondering where I've been hiding Phoebe and Joey, right? Well, the truth is...it's a possibility that I forgot about them for a while. Sorry about that. Their reintroduction is in this chapter, though, so stay tuned!   
  
Hey, anyone who hasn't should really go check out Ethan's series. It's pretty neat.   
  
This chapter is less dramatic and is truly meant more as a means of allowing them some reconciliation and stability to their fractured relationship. Not too much conflict here. Enjoy it, because the break will be short...   
  
One sex scene- not as graphic as the first one. Doesn't warrant a R, in my opinion. Come on, what did you expect? For them to do it once and then never speak of it again? I think you know me better than that... :-)  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"This is ridiculous. They're like over an hour late! Chandler, check the flight times again," Monica requested.   
  
Ross, Rachel, Chandler and Monica had been sitting outside Terminal B for almost two hours to pick up Joey and Phoebe on their return flight from Michigan. The two had gone for the weekend to a Joan Baez concert that Phoebe had insisted on seeing. Reluctantly, Joey had tagged along to keep her company. Their flight was supposed to arrive at 9:00 pm, but it was now approaching 10:15 and the quartet had yet to hear word from their friends.   
  
"No, it definitely says 9:30 p.m., Terminal B, La Guardia," Chandler revealed, scratching his head in puzzlement.   
  
"Wait, wait, there they are!" Ross shouted, pointing to a large crowd of people walking, en masse, down the exit ramp from the terminal. Amongst them were Joey and Phoebe, looking exhausted and carrying their bags over their shoulders. When they spotted everyone, they forced feeble smiles and waved.   
  
"Oh, I can't believe you guys actually waited for us," Phoebe proclaimed, allowing Chandler to take her bag from her. She blew a loose peace of shiny blonde hair out of her eyes. She looked worn out.   
  
"Of course," he insisted, "but what took you guys so long?" Phoebe rolled her eyes.  
  
"The flight was delayed an hour because of mechanical difficulties," Joey answered for her, securing his bag over his shoulder. "So I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready to get the hell out of here."  
  
The fatigued, slightly disgruntled group headed back to Chandler's Excursion and piled inside. Up front, Chandler and Monica fought over the radio station, and Phoebe and Joey fell instantly into a deep, jetlag-induced sleep. In the back, Ross was pressed securely against the side of the car with Rachel's head lying against his shoulder. Ever since their reunion, they'd been noticeably more affectionate. Monica and Chandler had called them out on it several times, but that had always proven ineffective. Ross tucked Rachel under his arm and ran his other hand up and down her thigh. He turned his head and kissed her softly on the temple.  
  
"Are you tired?" he asked sweetly and softly. She nodded and rubbed her head against his shoulder, trying to find a more comfortable position. "Do you want to sleep over tonight?" he asked, a bit hopefully. Since her parents' house had been sold and she was only 17, making her too young to rent an apartment, she had moved in with her aunt, who lived a convenient 2 blocks away from Ross and Monica. Usually gone on business trips or, as of late, to visit Rachel's mother in California, Aunt Debbie was seldom home.   
  
"Sure," Rachel answered, keeping her eyes closed but still smiling at Ross' endearingly hopeful question. After a few more moments of silence in the SUV, Chandler posed a question from up front.   
  
"Hey, what do you guys all think about taking a road trip?"  
  
"To where?" was Ross' immediate reaction and first question.   
  
"I don't know," his best friend answered, shrugging. "It doesn't really matter, does it? The fun part's the journey, not where you end up." At this, Rachel looked up a Ross somewhat seriously, catching his attention with her intense gaze. She squeezed his thigh and rubbed her hand caringly over his knee.   
  
"I don't know...I think where we end up is pretty important," she whispered. Ross smiled knowingly. She had obviously not been speaking to Chandler, and doubted if he had even heard her.   
  
"Alright, fine, you big babies," Chandler conceded from the front. "How about...New Orleans?"  
  
"No way!" Monica protested. "It'll be like 200 degrees down there during the summer AND we're not old enough to drink. All they have there are bars."  
  
"What about those fake I.D.s Ross and I were so thoughtful to buy you?" he asked teasingly, smiling to himself.   
  
"I think using those for a whole week or two would definitely be pushing our luck. New Orleans is out. What about...Chicago?"  
  
"What the hell's in Chicago?" Rachel asked, finally speaking up for the first time that night.   
  
"Plenty of stuff," Monica defended. "There're clubs, bars, theaters, nice restaurants, great shopping-"  
  
"You mean kind of like New York?" Ross quipped.   
  
"Okay, Mr. Smartass. Does New York have dozens of film festivals? And is New York bordered by one of the Great Lakes? And does it have Comiskey Park, home of the White Socks? See? There's LOTS to do in Chicago!"  
  
"Monica, we could go watch Rent and a Yankees game if we wanted theater and baseball," Ross protested. "If we're going to go somewhere, it needs to be somewhere not at all like New York."  
  
"What about California?" Rachel asked feebly. There was a silence for a moment before Ross answered her.  
  
"What's in California, sweety?" This question was awkward and everyone knew it. Rachel's mom. Of course, Rachel managed to sidestep that landmine effortlessly. She WAS always good at relieving tension.  
  
"I don't know, you just said you wanted someplace unlike New York. California is practically the opposite of New York. It's sunny and friendly and relaxed. There are beaches and resorts, and it might be the one place in America with shopping better than ours."  
  
"You know, she's got a point," Monica intruded. "Plus, the fact that it's across the country would just elongate the road trip. It's perfect!"  
  
"Alright, then," Chandler approved. "California- here we come!"   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Uh oh," Ross teased, smiling from ear to ear and holding up a small black thong sitting amongst a huge pile of clothes on Rachel's bed. "Looks like someone's expecting to get lucky on this trip." He winked playfully at her and braced himself for the slap across the chest that he saw coming from a mile away. She giggled and shook her head, continuing to fold and pack.   
  
"You're unbelievable," she mumbled.   
  
"Unbelievably...sexy?" he solicited, picking up a shirt and folding it for her. He'd come over that afternoon to help her pack for the impending trip. They stood beside one another beside her bed, packing suitcases and canvas bags and purses full of toiletries and clothes. After his joke, he smiled and looked slyly at her from the corner of his eye. She was smiling, too, though she said nothing to encourage him.   
  
"Ah, looks like someone LIKES my jokes." With that, he stopped his folding and grabbed her arm, stilling her motions as well. She looked up at him, somewhat astonished and confused by his gesture. He just looked back at her steadily, grinning sweetly but seriously. Then, seemingly from nowhere, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.   
  
She let him embrace her, closing her eyes and encircling her arms around his middle, clasping her hands together at his back. He sighed deeply, reveling in the fact that this was normal again. They just stood there like that together for a few moments, neither saying anything or even acknowledging the fact that this motion was outwardly random. Finally, Ross pulled away when a particular song came faintly but definitively over the radio.  
  
"Through the storm, we reach the shore.  
  
You give it all, but I want more..."  
  
"Hey," he whispered, gesturing towards the radio and smiling at her. "It's our song." Rachel furrowed her brow and looked pensive for a moment.   
  
"It is?"   
  
"Sure," he nodded, taking each of her hands respectively in his and scooting them away from the bed into the middle of the floor in her room.   
  
"Since when?" she asked. She hoped she wasn't forgetting some life-altering, relationship-defining moment they'd shared together. There sure had been a lot of those over the past year. Had one of them involved this song?  
  
"Since now," he answered simply, as if it were obvious. "Come on." With that, he pulled her towards him firmly by her lower back with his right hand and look her right hand with his left.   
  
"What are you doing?" Rachel asked, giggling a little at the absurdity of the situation and Ross' apparent lack of shame or inhibition.  
  
"Dancing, of course. Now, 'shhh'. You're messing up my rhythm," he insisted, clasping her right hand more firmly in his left and leading them around the room in time with the song.   
  
"Ross, this is silly! No one even dances like this anymore!"  
  
"We do," he stated, suddenly serious. He gazed down at her and caught her stare, holding it as they moved and smiling weakly but with more sincerity than he'd ever before mustered in his life. He dropped her hand for a moment to push some hair out of her eyes and let his fingers graze her lips. Once he took it again, though, she pushed her head against his chest and let him move her around the room.   
  
"I can feel your heart," she whispered, giggling sweetly and causing him to chuckle as well. Then, she stopped his feet and planted hers on the ground, forcing them to stay in that spot and only sway calmly to the song. She dropped his hand and moved both of hers to hug his waist and squeeze him to her. They were no longer dancing, but rather holding one another in the solitude of the room and rocking shallowly to the words.   
  
"I can't live without you-  
  
with or without you."  
  
They did not even run their hands over each other- didn't move to make it anything more. They merely buried themselves inside the other and remained lodged firmly there while U2 played the last, dying melodies of the song through the transmitter. Even when the song was over and only the obnoxious sarcasms and quips of the disc jockey seeped from the alarm clock, they stood wrapped in each others' embrace.   
  
Smoothly, Ross used one arm to reach behind her to her desk, picking up a black-and-white framed picture of them together. He brought it around to where she could see it and smiled, holding it up for her.   
  
"Our 1 month anniversary," she whispered, nodding subconsciously and tracing her fingers over the glass.   
  
"It felt like a year," he commented, not taking his eyes from her. He watched her look at the picture- watched her eyes light up as they darted around it, taking it all of it.   
  
It was taken in the kitchen of her house. They'd stayed in for the evening and tried to make dinner together, which, of course, had turned into a complete disaster. Both were doused in flower and Canola oil, with smears of chocolate and caramel across their cheeks and shirts. He was standing behind her at the counter with one hand around her waist and the other covering up her mouth. You could still see her immaculate, radiant smile shining through from behind it, though. Her eyes were lit up with the same loving fascination in the picture as they were right now.   
  
"God, I was so happy," she mused, shaking her head with nostalgia and perhaps a bit of sorrow for her juvenile naivety. Ross' smile faded and his face dropped instantly.   
  
"You...you're not happy now?" he enquired, setting the picture frame back behind her on the desk and running his hands up and down her arms. She shook her head and smiled, placing one hand on either side of his face. She traced his lips with her thumbs.  
  
"No, that's not what I meant. I just meant..." She considered for a moment how to continue, staring intently at his lips and swathed in some lost revere. She sighed, making eye contact with him and smiling reassuringly. "I just meant that I didn't have a clue. I mean, I didn't have a CLUE about how to make a relationship work. I had no idea what one even was. I was happy...but I hadn't earned it yet."  
  
This convinced him, picking up his bruised ego and dusting it off a bit. He was content with her answer, grinning and perhaps even fishing for compliments a bit. A certain gentility and unadulterated sweetness shone through his questions, though, and her heart melted at how poorly he was masking his concern for her- for them.   
  
"So you feel like you've earned it now?" His eyes are so...puppy dog, she thought to herself. She moved her hands from his face down to his chest, patting him there and scratching him softly through his shirt.   
  
"Yes," she teased a bit, whispering it in a velvety, seductive tone just beside him ear and leaning in provocatively to rub herself subtly against him. Before he knew it, she was nibbling on his ear and running her hands over his back.   
  
"Well," he joked, taking a deep breath and enjoying the feeling of her against him again. "Looks like I've earned something, too."  
  
"Oh, you have," she agreed, giggling softly and sweetly into his ear as she continued her nibbling. She walked them back to the bed and laid down on top of him, moving from his ear to his jaw. He closed his eyes and thanked whatever faceless, nameless, fated force was allowing him this undisturbed utopia. He ran his hands up and down her back, sliding them underneath her shirt to feel her skin.   
  
"What for?" he whispered, almost afraid she would decide at the last minute that he actually HADN'T earned this.   
  
"For being the best boyfriend in the world," she answered satisfactorily. While that answer may have seemed trite or unoriginal in other situations, coming from her lips in THIS particular one made his toes curl and sent shivers up his spine. "You know..." she continued, having stopped her ministrations and slid a bit off of him and to his side, but still keeping a leg and arm draped across his legs and torso. "Debbie's still out of town." She raised a provocative eyebrow, smiling insinuatively and running her hand over his chest and stomach.   
  
"Are you sure?" he asked, as she was sure he'd do EVERY time, probably until they were married and possibly even after. Instead of answering verbally, she nodded and laid her face close to his on the pillow, closing her eyes and nudging her nose against his cheek.   
  
That was all the reassurance he needed. He took it upon himself to remove both of their clothes before anything else. She just laid there, content to watch him work. Just like last time, because she was too scared and he was too respectful to do it any other way, he climbed on top of her and settled down between her knees, melting into her and watching her face contort in pleasure (and maybe a bit of sporadic pain) and feeling their breaths mesh together in the interstice.   
  
Afterwards, he pulled the blankets up around them and let their bodies cool off beneath the airy sheets. After their pulses had lowered and their breathing returned to normal, she burrowed herself into his side and laid an arm and leg over his body. Her head found it's way into the nook of his shoulder and his arms rested limply against her back. The rest of the packing would have to wait for the next morning.   
  
"So we're leaving tomorrow, huh?" she asked, tracing her fingertips softly over the firm muscle of his stomach.   
  
"Yeah," he confirmed. "You ready?"  
  
"Ready to get the hell out of here, that's for sure," she answered, surprising even herself a little bit.   
  
"What's here that's so bad?" he asked, immediately knowing the answer and feeling idiotic right away. She answered tastefully and subtly, though, as always.   
  
"What's here that's so good?" Answering a question with a question. Flawless, Rachel. Flawless.   
  
"Me," he teased, kissing her forehead and feeling her body jerk gently as she giggled.   
  
"Oh, no," she whispered, the words sodden with tenderness and playfulness. She leaned up and kissed the very tip of his nose, patting him on the chest. "I'm taking you with me."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 17. Continued in Chapter 18. 


	18. Chapter 18: The Beginning Of The End

Title: The Beginning Of The End  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
I introduce to you...(drum role)...The Chapter Which Puts All Previous Chapters To Shame With Its Many Allusions To The Actual Show (And To Movies The Six Actors Have Been In).  
  
Let's see how many allusions you can spot :-)  
  
Also, just to let everyone know, a lot of the drama is going to be saved up for the last chapter or two. For the next 2 or 3, I'm just try to focus on the joys of being young and on your own. Proud and fancy free :-)   
  
Also, some of the lingo that is used and the pictures that are painted will be done so to keep in time with the mood and tone of the situation. For instance, some of this chapter takes place in a nightclub and some in an upscale restaurant. The situations will be quite different, as will the characterization. The vernacular will change. Roll with the punches :-)  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
At dawn the next day, the sextet piled into Chandler's Explorer for an early start at what would undoubtedly be the most eye-opening and soul-clenching trip of their lives until that point. Surprisingly, all six managed to pack extraordinarily light- even the girls.   
  
This trip was not about 5 star hotels (as if they could even afford that) or all-day Caribbean princess cruises. This was not the kind of vacation you take with mom and dad and grandma to the Grand Canyon. It was not about preconceived expectations or itineraries or souvenirs. The only things they'd take would be absolute necessities and the only things they'd bring back would be memories and absolutions. It was about six people taking in the symphonic range of their collective youths. It was about seeing the sun begin to blaze over the horizon of some nondescript dessert at 6 am. It was about everything from lustrous neon lights to dusty, lonely tumbleweeds. Most importantly, though, it was about being young and in love and crazy and stupid and emotional and idiotic and naive and full of potential and life.   
  
It would be their last "hurrah" together.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Okay, so the 1 million dollar question is: Do we stop in Indianapolis or keep trucking through until Chicago?" Chandler asked from behind the steering wheel.   
  
The rest of the car was somewhere between sedation and exhaustion. In the middle column, Phoebe and Joey were sprawled out over their seat like two etherized mental patients. Eyelids fluttering open and closed and chests rising and falling steadily, neither of them were conscious enough to muster any sort of insight. In the very back, Ross sat with his back against the window and one leg propped up on the back of Joey and Phoebe's seat. He rested his head against the pane and let the melodic stylings of John Coltrane lull him to sleep. Meanwhile, Rachel sat facing him with her back against the opposite window and her legs lounged across his. Being the only one conscious in the car besides Chandler and Monica , she took it upon herself to answer.   
  
"Let's stop. We've been driving for almost 10 hours."  
  
9 hours and 48 minutes, to me exact. It was now approaching 4 pm and the skyline of Indiana's capital could be seen poking up over the horizon. While quite an enormous city, it was still worlds away from New York. Rachel smiled to herself as she looked out the window. That's exactly what she needed- something worlds apart from New York. She couldn't get far enough away. When they finally hit California, she knew something inside her that had been caught in a groove would finally shift into place and she'd be different forever.   
  
"Hey," she heard him coo from across the seat. She looked over and saw him smiling groggily through half-open eyelids back at her.   
  
"Hey you," she whispered in turn, tapping his foot with hers in recognition and smiling warmly. "Enjoy your nap?"  
  
"I did," he nodded. "Where are we?"  
  
"Almost to Indianapolis. We're stopping there for the night."  
  
"Ah," he replied, nodding and peering through the window at the city's skyline. "Their Museum of Art is supposed to have the best Summer Nights Concert of any other city in the country."  
  
"Ross," she enquired, her mouth agape and shaking her head, "how do you know all this stuff?" He smiled back at her mischievously, exposing his pearly white teeth in a big toothy grin.   
  
"Oh, I have my sources."  
  
"Oh really?" she provoked, sliding across and seat and situating herself with her back to his chest. He slid his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.   
  
"Yup."  
  
"Tell me more about all the great cities of our country, then, Mr. Geller."  
  
"Alright," he continued, nuzzling his nose into her hair and thinking. "Well, there's New York..."  
  
"Not New York," she insisted immediately.   
  
"Okay," he promised. It was a promise. He knew it was a promise as soon as her request left her lips. From that moment on, he promised to do everything in his power to make her forget New York. Even if it were only for a week, he would make the life she knew there disappear for her for as long as he could. "Not New York," he repeated.   
  
"Well," he continued, only pretending to rack his brain for an impressive plethora of information on some seemingly (but not actually) random city. "There's Vegas."  
  
"Tell me about Vegas, then," she encouraged, stroking her arms that were embracing her so strongly and securely.  
  
"In Spanish, it means 'The Meadows," he murmured into her ear.   
  
"Not like New York," she confirmed.   
  
"Nope. Not like New York."  
  
"What else?" she whispered, letting her head fall back against his chest and closing her eyes.   
  
"The Flamingo Hilton was originally just the Flamingo. It was built by infamous mobster Bugsy Siegel, and was the first official carpet joint on the strip."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
"Uh...the MGM Grand is the nation's largest hotel with over 5000 rooms."  
  
"That's a lot of rooms."  
  
"Lot of rooms...Elvis and Priscilla Presley were married at the original Aladdin hotel, which was torn down in 1998, rebuilt in 2000, bankrupt in 2001, then sold to OpBiz in 2003 and renamed Planet Hollywood."  
  
"Damn corporations buying out the little guys," she whispered, rubbing back up against him.  
  
"Damn those corporations," he chimed in, enjoying every undulation of her body as it moved against his.  
  
"Tell me about Mexico City," she requested.   
  
"Scientists claim Mexico City is slowly sinking due to the depletion of the water level beneath the city. Giant aquifers that serve as water reservoirs are being emptied faster than they can be refilled, causing the earth to be submerged," he rattled off robotically. She couldn't help but smile. She was constantly impressed and amazed at how inextricably intelligent he was. His knowledge seemingly knew no boundaries. He could take her anywhere she wanted to go. And he would.  
  
"Chicago," she demanded.   
  
"More than 1.5 million tourists visit the Sears Tower Skydeck each year., the Adler Planetarium on Chicago's Museum Campus was the first planetarium in the Western Hemisphere, it's the railroad capital of the world and the Art Institute of Chicago holds the largest collection of Impressionist paintings outside the Louvre in Paris," he recited, without missing a beat. She wasn't through, though.  
  
"Seattle."  
  
"Seattle?" he abruptly blurted out. "Who the hell would ever want to go to Seattle?" She smiled.   
  
"Just go ahead and finish showing off, Mr. Dictionary."  
  
"Fine. Absolutely the most miserable city in the country," he contended, deadpan and monotone in his delivery. She actually laughed aloud at that one, reaching back and pinching his ribs.   
  
"Hey, hey, hey!" he shouted, squirming and laughing under her touch. "Alright, you win! Jeesh! Uh...If you lay the Space Needle down, it will just barely fit inside Safeco Field by 50 feet."  
  
Before she had time to reply, Chandler's voice interrupted the relative peace of the car.   
  
"Alright, here we are!" he announced, taking an exit ramp off Route 66 and preparing to turn right at the traffic light. The off-ramp landed them in the middle of the city, but Chandler steered the car down Washington Boulevard at the heart of the capital city. "Keep your eyes pealed for hotels, everyone!" he commanded. Shooting up on either side of the street, sky-scrappers and office buildings peered down at the street. Up-scale restaurants and shopping strips, donned in and lit up by spectacular lights, attracted hundreds of buzzing consumers as they rushed into and out of the stores with bags and purses slung over their shoulders and across their backs. As it was nearing dinner time, lines were beginning to form outside theaters and bars. All in all, much like a toned-down New York.   
  
"What's going on?" Phoebe asked groggily, lifting her head from Joey's stomach and panning her half-open eyes across the windows. "Where are we?"  
  
"Indianapolis," Ross offered from the back seat. "We're staying here for the night."  
  
"Where's Indianapolis?" Joey chimed in.   
  
"Indiana, Joe. Probably the only place worth stopping for in the entire state," Chandler answered. "Ah-ha!"   
  
He pulled the car into a quaint little Holiday Inn tucked discreetly between a pawn shop and a Blockbuster. It seemed lost to the hustle and bustle of the rest of the buildings on the street. It was L-shaped and 2 stories tall, with an outside hallway on both floors underneath an overhang. The office was located at the nearest end to them, so Chandler parked the car and ran inside to book 3 rooms for 1 night. When he emerged from the building, he was clasping 3 keys in his hand.   
  
"We're in 25, 26 and 27," he informed the car. "He reduced the price of the rooms to $30 each because I agreed to take smoking."  
  
"Smoking?!" Monica wined.   
  
"Honey, it's not like the room's FORCING you to smoke," Chandler consoled. "Isn't EVERY room non-smoking if the people in it don't smoke?"  
  
"But it's going to be in the curtains and the bed sheets. Our CLOTHES our going to smell like it," she complained.   
  
"Stop being such a baby," Ross commanded. He had gotten out of the car and was standing at the trunk, gathering his and Rachel's suitcases to take them up to the room. "It's only for a night and it's saving you $20."  
  
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," she protested, defeated and climbing out of the car. "And let me tell you something, mister," she threatened, pointing at Chandler's chest. "YOU are not getting ANY tonight if you don't find some air freshener pretty damn fast."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Ross balanced their suitcases underneath his arms and in his hands while fighting with the key in the lock.. He pushed in the door with his foot and it swung wide open, revealing a typical hotel room. It was fairly spacious with one, double-sized bed against the right wall, a television sitting atop a dresser against the left, a small breakfast table with two chairs and an end table. The bathroom was coming off the back wall and a connecting door beside the dresser lead to Monica and Chandler's room.   
  
"Ugh," Rachel complained, pushing her way into the room past Ross. "Hotels are gross." Ross threw the massive pile of luggage, most of which was Rachel's, onto the bed and exhaled deeply, rolling his eyes.   
  
"Well, it may not be The Plaza, but it's only $30 and it's only for a night," he assured. She sensed the disappointment and irritation in his voice at her complaint. She sauntered over to him and wrapped her arms around his middle, stroking his back with her hands and resting her head on his chest.   
  
"I'm sorry, Sweety," she apologized, looking up at him. "It's fine. It's good." She smiled sweetly for emphasis.   
  
"Good," he stated simply, nodding his head and placing his hands on her waist. "Because, you know, this is how it's going to be with me. No more week-long stays at the Trump Towers on daddy's dime. No more Princess cruises. This'll be our life- just one long stretch of Holiday Inns and Indianapolises." Rachel crinkled her nose at him, pushing away a bit.   
  
"One long stretch of Holiday Inns and Indianapolises? What're you talking about?"   
  
"Oh, not literally. You know what I mean," he answered, sounding a bit exasperated. She still looked confused.   
  
"I'm not sure I do." Frustrated, he pulled away.   
  
"I just mean that this is the kind of thing I have to offer you, Rach. You know, our lifestyles are kind of different. I'm not like 'daddy'. When you and I end up together, our life is going to be pretty mediocre." Rachel folded her arms across her chest, looking furious and hurt at the same time.   
  
"Mediocre? So that's what you think we are?" Tears were already welling up in her eyes. Realizing immediately what he had inadvertently said, he rushed to her and began rubbing her arms, trying to consol her.   
  
"No, no, that's not what I meant at all..." She backed away from him.   
  
"I KNOW what you meant, Ross. I just can't believe you said it." His demeanor changed quickly from upset to confused and aggravated.  
  
"Why not? You KNOW it's true. I'm not going to be able to give you all the nice things you have now."  
  
"Yeah," she nearly yelled, "I DO know it's true. Do you think THAT'S why I'm with you, Ross? Because I want you to buy me pretty things and move into a big house and have lots of money?"  
  
"No, Rachel, you know that's not what I meant. I just-"  
  
"No, Ross, I DON'T know that." Tears were threatening to fall down her cheeks, but she wasn't actively crying. She was hurt, though, and stood a defensive several feet away from him with her arms still folded tightly across her chest. "Do you know how it feels to hear you say that our life together is going to be MEDIOCRE? After everything we've been through? After everything both of us has sacrificed and all the shit we've had to put behind us to be here?" She shook her head, lowering her voice. "How could you say that? How could you even THINK that?"  
  
"Look...Rachel..." He waked towards her slowly, taking her hands again. This time, she did not pull away. "I'm sorry. You're right- I shouldn't have said it like that. It didn't come out like I meant for it to. All I meant was...you know...things will be different. They won't be like when we were kids."  
  
"I know that," she answered feebly, giving into him and going to hug him again. She rested the side of her head tightly against his chest. "But, Ross...that's not what I want. I don't need the boat in the driveway or the swimming pool out back or the summer house in Tahoe. We will NEVER be mediocre, and it won't be because we have lots of 'stuff'."  
  
They stood like that in silence for a few minutes. Then, Ross realized something and it made him smile.   
  
"Hey, do you realize we just had an actual ARGUMENT about our hypothetical future, and neither one of us even questioned the fact that we'd end up together?"  
  
"I guess there were just too many other things wrong with what you said. I can tear that one apart, too, if you'd like," she teased, looking up at him and grinning. He smiled a big, charming smile at her, moving his hands from her waist to her arms.   
  
"Don't take that tone with me, woman," he kidded, shaking her playfully a bit. She giggled loudly and swatted him across the chest. For atonement, he lifted her up by her shoulders and threw her onto the bed, causing her to emit a high-pitched squeal as she landed square in the center of cushiony mattress. He crawled slyly up the bed and positioned himself over her, grinning mischievously and placing one hand and one knee on either side of her body. He bent his head at the neck and placed his face directly over hers. She grinned widely, trying desperately not to laugh and to match his stern face. They always did this- competed to see who could stay serious longer. She never won. Sneakily, she hooked her pointer fingers inside the waistband of his pants, causing him to cock an eyebrow and smile impishly.   
  
"I win," she whispered.   
  
"Cheater," he whispered back, moving in to kiss her. He changed his mind at the last moment, though, and bit her lip instead.   
  
"Ross?" she asked between kisses.  
  
"Yeah?" he answered, moving down to kiss her jaw and neck.   
  
"We'll be together forever, right?" He stopped what he was doing and looked down at her, brushing some hair behind her ear and smiling.   
  
"Even longer," he whispered.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Despite their exhaustion, the six met in the lobby of the motel that evening to begin their first night of exploration on the road by themselves. They dressed up in fairly nice fatigues, prepared for an evening of classy restaurants and up-scale clubs. With the money Chandler and Ross had gotten out of their parents for graduation, the money Joey's earned at his mechanic job and the money Phoebe had stolen from her grandmother, they'd be able to afford at least a somewhat refined trip.   
  
"Okay," Chandler announced, clasping his hands together dramatically. "Where to?"  
  
"Oh, we passed this really cute little restaurant a few blocks back on our way in. There's open-air seating on this little patio landing about 20 stories up. I think it was called "Top Of The Hill", or something like that," Rachel offered. "It looked pretty fancy."  
  
"Well, we're all fancied out, so let's get going! I'm hungry!" Monica declared. They walked together out into the comfortably warm air of the evening and down the street towards their destination. To the naked eye, they were like 6 pieces of metropolitan eye candy. The girls were fashionable and sexy and the three boys were as metrosexual as they come.   
  
Rachel wore a pair of black, low-rider, pinstriped pants and a silk, green and navy halter top with an expressionist print that tied low on her back. Her hair was crimped and wavy and bounced around her shoulders. Monica wore a light brown, "saloon style" mini-skirt with pleated rows and tiers with pink and orange trim and a plain, dark brown tank top. Phoebe, who had initially resisting going out to begin with, due to her slight car sickness and tiredness, cleaned up in a pair of tight white pants with blue, yellow and pink ribbons tied about the waist and a matching white tube top. Heads turned on the streets of Indianapolis that night for those three girls- eyes blind to their naiveté and adolescence. For at least that one night, they were whoever they wanted to be. They were as old and as mature and as confident as anyone.  
  
The guys, on the other hand, were gods among the mortals. As they escorted the three girls down the main drag, past the restaurants and the clubs and the bars- past the crowds of goggling eyes and cat calls- they chuckled to themselves. They knew the truth. These girls were beautiful and sexy, no doubt about it, but they were THEIR girls. These poor strangers, shameless in their gawking and ogling, had no idea how impossibly out of reach they were. Ross, Chandler and Joey, stylish in their Banana Republicesque outfits, remained happy to show them off for tonight, though.   
  
Ross, in a pair of navy dress pants, a light blue dress shirt with white pinstripes and a navy blazer, didn't hesitate to place his hand on Rachel's hip or lower back or over her shoulder. He would playfully grab her arm or walk behind her with his hands on her waist, watching the other men stare in contempt and jealousy and smiling in content smugness. 'That's right', he was silently boasting. 'She's mine.'  
  
The other two men- Chandler in a similar outfit to Ross', only with a charcoal gray suit and a dark green shirt, and Joey in a pair of nice jeans, an untucked white dress shirt and black blazer- watched their friend do the classic, possessive, "he-man" act and rolled their eyes and smiled in amusement. They knew he was enjoying every minute of it. This was nothing like the sleazy pedophile men from the clubs and bars back home that drooled and touched themselves when Rachel entered a room. Ross was not disgusted or jealous or concerned for her safety. Out here, submerged in the lights and sounds of a foreign metropolis and a cool summer night, they were both getting just what they needed- for her to be someone and somewhere else, and for him to just be there with her.   
  
"Ah, On The Hill!" Rachel exclaimed, pointing up to a massive Neon sign protruding from the 15th story landing of a fancy, glass office building. "I knew it had SOMETHING to do with a hill! Come on!"  
  
She grabbed Ross' hand and the six made their way to the elevator beside the concierge's desk in the main lobby. After the 15th "ding", the doors opened up directly to the patio.  
  
"Uh oh," Chandler joked, "we're outside again."  
  
The patio was dimly lit, with only strands of small white Christmas lights and candles emitting any light. A small jazz band was playing softly in one corner, while a showy bar tender was flipping bottles behind his back and through the air, egged on by a quiet applause on the other side.   
  
"Six?" a tall man with dark features and the beginnings of a 5 o'clock shadow asked from nowhere.   
  
"Yes," Chandler confirmed, discreetly placing a $20 in the man's hand and winking. Monica rolled her eyes, but they were soon seated at a booth located right next to the railing on the side of the roof. They could look straight down or out over the city.   
  
"Best seats in the house," Chandler gloated, throwing Monica a smug "I told you so" look.   
  
"Wow, Chandler," Rachel praised, "I must say, I'm quite impressed. We're really highfalutin here in Indianapolis."  
  
"I know, you don't really notice how expensive New York is until you go somewhere else," Ross agreed. "We're like high society here."  
  
They stayed there for hours, eating and reminiscing and laughing. Chandler slipped the waiter another $50 to overlook the fact that they were minors and bring them a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild Pauillac 1996. The man threw him a curiously reluctant eye, but eventually took the extended offer and brought the ridiculously overpriced wine to the table.  
  
"Oh my God, Chandler," Monica nearly yelled, "this stuff is over $200! Where are you getting all this money?"  
  
"Relax!" he yelled in a whispering voice, placing a finger over his mouth to motion for her to speak more quietly. "My parents gave me a bunch of graduation money. It was going to get me a new laptop, a new car and maybe TV for the form room next year, but I decided to spend it on this trip instead."  
  
"Jeez, dude, that's a lot of money," Joey pointed out.   
  
"Yeah, and if you keep spending it all, we're not going to have enough to make it to California!" Ross reprimanded.   
  
"Would you guys chill out?" Chandler pleaded, sounding somewhat perturbed. "Look, I just wanted this trip to be special, alright? It's like out last big thing together before we all head off our separate ways."  
  
"To be fair, WE'RE not heading anywhere," Phoebe interrupted. "We've still got another year at that place. You two are the only ones moving on."  
  
"Don't remind me," Rachel whispered disgustedly, rolling her eyes and turning her head away from the table to look out over the city. Ross, concerned but wanting to remain tactful, placed a hand on her thigh underneath the table. She turned her head back abruptly to look at him, her gaze serious and sad. An awkward silence fell over the table.   
  
"Hey, look you guys," Chandler bided, "it's not like that much is going to change. The four of you'll be going to the same school, and Ross and I'll come see you all the time."  
  
At this, Ross shot Chandler a disapproving, weary look. Immediately, Chandler realized what he had done. Everyone knew that Ross had yet to decide where he was going to college. For all they knew, he could end up in Boston or Manchester or Albuquerque. Ross kicked him swiftly under the table. Rachel turned her head away again, and that same taxing silence that had been alleviated so briefly filled the air.   
  
"Why don't we get out of here?" Joey suggested, standing up and reaching for his wallet to throw $40 on the table. The other 5 followed in suit, waiting for Chandler to pay the matron up front and then disappearing from the restaurant to descent back down to the street.   
  
It was now a little after 10:00 pm, and the clubs and bars down the main strip were really beginning to attract lines and crowds of people at their doors. Taxi cabs littered the streets and men and women of all ages, mostly in their late 20's to early 30's, walked determinedly along the sidewalks and across traffic. The air was getting chillier and a light breeze was blowing, casing the men to put their blazers back on and the women to tighten their arms over their chests. As the night went on, the conurbation began to look more and more like New York.   
  
"Where to now?" Joey asked, lighting up a cigarette and narrowing his eyes to gaze in both directions down the street. "Looks like we've got our share of clubs we could probably get into, as long as Chandler keeps those tips coming. Otherwise, this city's a piece of shit. You can't do anything unless you're 21. It's like New Orleans."  
  
"It's like NEW YORK, too, Joe," Ross reminded, slinging an arm over Rachel's shoulder. "We find plenty to do there, though."  
  
"Come on," Chandler commanded, beginning to walk further down the boulevard in the opposite direction from their hotel. They passed several nightclubs, all of which were clearly packed and emanating some weird form of techno trance music that told the six they should probably keep walking.   
  
Finally, they reached what looked like a cross between a club and a bar. Through the tinted windows, pool tables, a bar and a dance floor could barely be made out. Smoke didn't cloud the air, though, and the people loitering around out front, talking on their cell phones or obviously waiting for someone, weren't dressed like they'd just come from a rave.   
  
"This is the place," Chandler confirmed, nodding convincingly. "Joe, let me see that for a second." He took the half-burned cigarette from Joey's mouth and placed it between his fingers, taking a long, drawn-out drag and reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. Confidently- way more confidently than was normal for Chandler- he stepped to the bouncer and displayed his fake ID. He waited for the tell-tale confirmation nod, which came eventually, after what seemed like minutes of waiting, before sliding it back into his pocket.   
  
"You're alright," the bouncer confirmed, stepping aside for Chandler to enter.   
  
"Thanks, my good man," Chandler charmed, reaching back into his wallet. "Here's the thing, though. You see those 5 kids over there?" The bouncer nodded, deadpanned and uninterested. "The guy in the navy blazer- he's okay. Those other 4, though...well...they're okay, too, right?" With that, he slipped the $50 into the man's hand and prayed. The bouncer looked down at the money curiously, like he had never seen a $50 before in his life. Then, back up at Chandler.   
  
"What's your name, son?" he asked, in a deep, burly voice that matched his physical appearance perfectly.   
  
"Chandler," he gulped, trying desperately not to lose his cool. After a very intense stare-down that had the Chandler and the other 5 shaking in their boots and ready to run at any moment, the man smiled.   
  
"You're alright, kid," he confirmed, motioning for the others to enter as well. "Check it out. The guy serving drinks now is a real asshole. My buddy Martin comes on at 11. You tell him Luther said you could have all the free drinks you wanted."  
  
"Seriously?" Chandler asked, regretting the boyish hopefulness that plagued him voice immediately. "I mean, why?" Luther shrugged and smiled.   
  
"It's not every day a kid'll come here and not only use a fake ID, but try and bribe me to get his punk friends in, too," he stated simply. Chandler smiled and nodded, thanking the man and waving the other 5 in.   
  
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By midnight, the 6 had broken off into pairs. Joey and Phoebe had made friends with a group of college students and were sitting with them in a big booth near the back of the club, taking shots and smoking cigarettes and making toasts to nothing and no one. Chandler and Monica had been at the bar all night, chatting it up with Martin, requesting bar tricks they didn't know existed and drinks they'd never heard of. Meanwhile, Ross and Rachel were playing pool near the front, completely wasted on countless shots of straight Vodka and laughing at their already terrible pool-playing capabilities.   
  
"Baby," Rachel slurred, using the term of endearment that she did so least frequently and usually just when she was drunk, "we've been at this for almost an hour and we haven't even finished a game." At this revelation, they both began to laugh almost hysterically. Ross was not nearly as gone as her, but he'd definitely had a few drinks under his belt and was feeling very nearly to nothing. He'd taken off his blazer and placed it over the back of a nearby chair, having rolled up his shirt sleeves and undone the top button. His hair was a bit disheveled, so he at least LOOKED like he knew what he was doing when he was making the shots, even if he rarely sunk them.   
  
"I don't have anywhere to be," he rebuked, lining up the cue with the solid 6 and knocking the crap out of it but accomplishing nothing. Rachel laughing.   
  
"You're terrible at this," she giggled. He stood up from where he was bent over the table, leaning against the stick in his one hand and smiling crookedly, prepared to defend himself. Before he could, though, she was already ambling towards him, swaying her hips, licking her lips and narrowing her eyes lustfully.   
  
"You look..." she began, placing her hands on his hips and sliding up his body to whisper in his ear, "...so hot when you play pool." To punctuate her point, she pressed her stomach into his crotch and just barely licked his ear. He closed his eyes and moaned, letting the pool stick rest against the stool and running his hands down to cup her ass. She smiled.   
  
"You are soooo drunk," she drawled out, giggling and smiling wildly. He nodded and chuckled.   
  
"It's okay, though, because so are you. No one's taking advantage of anyone else," he assured, reveling in his intoxicated logic, which, of course, made perfect sense to him. Suddenly, he became very aware of her rubbing herself against him and the back of his throat went instantly dry, his dick getting hard with arousal.   
  
"Rachel," he whispered, trying to push her away a bit. "I just realized that we're in public."  
  
"So?" she asked, reluctant to move away from him. Her eyes were still closed and she was pulling him to her by his collar.   
  
"So you're not in a position to get extremely embarrassed," he concluded, gesturing towards his crotch. She laughed, still grasping at his shirt and waist.   
  
"Everyone gets horny when they get drunk, honey. It's okay." She batted her eyelashes at him and licked her lips again, making it increasingly harder for him to keep pushing her away. Though what she said was true, and most of the people around them probably had no idea that they even existed and were paying them no attention, he still thought it'd be a better idea to go someplace more circumspect.   
  
"Come on," he offered, taking her by the wrist, grabbing his jacket from the chair and leading her to a small nook tucked away near the back of the room. There were black leather couches and coffee tables and partitions to allow for private conversation away from the noise of the dance floor, though there was only one other couple seated in one of the sections and they were most definitely not talking. Ross had to steer Rachel to the couch (which was actually more like a simi-circle booth) and helped her sit down.   
  
"I'm so dizzy," she yelled into his ear, still laughing and giggling and completely unable to control her voice or most of her motor functions. He just nodded and got her situated, sliding in beside her and drawing the small curtain that partially blocked them off from the rest of the club. It was almost completely dark with the drape closed, but it didn't shut all the way and strobe and disco lights from the dance floor seeped in and gave them some illumination.  
  
"Hmm, what is this?" Rachel asked, looking confused and like she'd forgotten where she was.   
  
"It's just somewhere for us to talk where it's not so loud," he answered. "Jesus, how much did you have?" he asked, chuckling at her floopiness and taking her hand on top of the table.   
  
"Not enough to believe that you brought me here to talk," she rebutted, smiling slyly.   
  
"Ah, touche," he grinned, winking and smiling even more widely.   
  
"Are you going to come onto me, Ross?" she asked sexily, almost daring him to do so.   
  
"I don't know," he answered, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head casually. "I might not have to if you pull another move like you did out there."  
  
She smiled and crawled, almost feline-like, across the booth to seat herself right next to him. Slowly, she ran her hand up his thigh and over his crotch, never taking her eyes off his and watching as his pupils dilated with arousal and desire.   
  
"Jesus," he groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.   
  
"Well," she smiled, licking her lips, "I guess someone isn't as cool and collected as they'd like for me to think."  
  
"Guess not," he rejoined, taking a deep breath and hoping to God that she wouldn't take her hand away. He grabbed her wrist and held it tightly, not entirely sure what he was asking her to do. His breath was coming faster and he could feel the burn of the alcohol on his stomach and the weight of it in his head.   
  
"Are we too drunk to do this?" she asked into his ear, leaning over him now.   
  
"Ah, don't ask me that," he begged, shaking his head and keeping his gaze fixated on her. "If you ask me that, I'm going to have to be the responsible one and say 'probably'."  
  
"Screw responsibility," she declared, diving in and kissing him ferociously. They both let out simultaneous moans, battering the other with their tongues and tearing roughly at their clothes. Before long, Rachel was on his lap, straddling him and toying with the buttons of his shirt.   
  
"My, you're in a hurry," he teased between kisses, holding firmly to her hips as she wound them rhythmically into his crotch.   
  
"You're not stopping me," she pointed out, reaching for his belt.  
  
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"Where're Ross and Rachel?" Monica slurred together, nearly falling off her bar stool. Chandler caught her at the last second, having always been able to handle his liquor and rendered unaffected by the mass amounts of alcohol they'd taken in.   
  
"I don't know," he confessed, helping her to sit back up in her chair. "Probably doing what they're always doing," he kidded, knowing that it was probably true, nonetheless. "No more for her, okay?" he asked Martin.   
  
"Right," Martin nodded, reaching for one of the dozens of shot glasses sprawled across the bar in front of Monica and cleaning it with a rag. "I'd say 24's her lucky number."  
  
"24? Seriously? Jesus, how the HELL did I let her have so much?"  
  
"Don't worry, man," Martin assured. "They were just Rum and Coke's- not nearly as strong as the stuff your other two friends were having."  
  
"Ross and Rachel?" he asked. Martin shrugged.   
  
"I guess. The tall guy and the hot girl who were playing pool over there not too long ago. They came in with you all. I must have given her somewhere close to 8 shots in a half hour. I'd be surprised if that boy didn't take her back home by now."   
  
"You think they went backta tha hotel?" Monica rambled.   
  
"Wouldn't be surprised, either," Chandler answered to both, knowing good and well what his friends were most likely up to now, regardless of where they were.  
  
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"You roll your own?" the blonde man asked Joey, bewildered.   
  
"Sure," he answered, shrugging it off. "My uncle taught me how when I was 10." With that, Joey pulled a small, thin sheet of paper from a canteen in his back pocket and sprinkled some of the tobacco from the baggie in the center of the table over it. When he was done rolling it, he lit it up and took a puff.   
  
"That's pretty badass," the blonde man admitted. The group of college kids that Phoebe and Joey had made friends with had been questioning them all night- mostly about being from New York and their smoking and partying habits. The blonde man was Tony, the pretty brunette to his right was his girlfriend, Millie, and the his three frat brothers, Tom, Rodney and Jeff concluded the bunch. They were 22 and hadn't seen half the things Phoebe and Joey had.   
  
"So how many places did you say you've lived?" Tom asked Phoebe.   
  
"Six," she answered, "but I don't remember most of them."   
  
"Jesus," Tom replied, "I've never been out of Indianapolis."  
  
"Are you shitting me?" Joey asked, coughing a bit on some smoke. "We're just here for the night. We're on a road trip with some friends. We leave in the morning."  
  
"Oh, those kids we saw you with before?" Tony intervened.   
  
"Yeah, what's the deal with that little blonde number?" Jeff asked excitedly. "You know, with the tight black pants and kind of wavy hair? Looks like just about every guy's wet dream?" He chuckled. Millie rolled her eyes disgustedly.   
  
"Ah," Phoebe answered, "you mean Rachel." She took a quick shot from one of the half-full glasses on the table. "Yeah, she's, um, taken...to say the least."  
  
"What? Is she like married or something?" Jeff inquired.   
  
"Might as well be," Joey interrupted, crushing the butt of his cigarette on the bare tabletop. He took another from the pack and tucked it behind his ear for later. "I kind of had a thing for her when I first moved to the neighborhood, but you can forget it, man. She's so in love she can't see straight."  
  
"With who? That guy she was with? Rob, or Ron or something like that?"  
  
"Ross," Phoebe clarified, "and yeah. They've been together for almost a year. Trust me, there's no breaking them up. They've been through more than most married couples."  
  
"Where are they now?" he asked, looking around the club. Joey and Phoebe exchanged knowing glances.   
  
"If you can't find them, you probably don't want to," he answered, knocking his flip-open lighter against the side of the table and holding the flame up to Phoebe's cigarette for her.  
  
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"We're so going to get kicked out of here," Ross pointed out, groping at Rachel as she clawed and pulled at his shirt, attempted to get him out of it.   
  
"What are you talking about?" she asked innocently, grinding her crotch against his now and kissing his jaw neck. "We're not doing anything wrong."  
  
He moved his hands down around ass, smoothing his palms over the tight fabric of her pants as she arched her back, then moved them up to untie the knot in her halter top. He fumbled drunkenly with it, but even if he had opened his eyes, his vision would have been blurred and all he would have seen would have been her face.   
  
"Fuck it," he mumbled into her mouth, leaving the knot and simply moving his hands around front and up the loose shirt, kneading and rubbing her breasts with the palms of his hands. She reached down to his pants again, unzipping them and guiding him out of the opening of his boxers and between the metal teeth. Then, he reached for the zipper and button of her pants.  
  
"Wait, wait," he warned, pulling away from their ceaseless kiss, moving his hands from her pants and catching his breath. He steadied her on his lap with his hands on her hips. "We can't do this here."  
  
"What?" she asked, obviously confused and frustrated. "Why the hell not?"  
  
"Because," he puffed, demonstrating his own frustration as well. "You're too drunk and we're in a club."  
  
"So?" she asked, grinding her hips again and grabbing his shoulders, trying to convince him. "No one can see us. There's a curtain."  
  
"I know, I know," he admitted, nodding in agreement. "But you're still drunk and we could get arrested if we got caught. You're 17. I could go to prison for jailbait."  
  
"Ughh," she groaned.   
  
"I know," he whispered, nodding and placing a hand on her face. He exhaled deeply and kissed her softly on the lips. "Even if we were both 20, though, I'm not going to have sex with you while you're drunk." Another soft kiss. She hesitated to pull away, grabbing his face in her hands with he moved to do so, but finally let go disappointedly.   
  
"Why do you have to be such a goddamn gentleman?" she asked sarcastically, smiling and leaning her forehead against his.  
  
"I'm asking myself that almost daily," he answered.  
  
"You know," she suggested, "we don't HAVE to have sex..."  
  
With that, she smiled craftily and slid down his body and onto the floor beneath the table. Before he had time to tell her that it wasn't necessary and she didn't have to, she had already parted his legs and had her hand down his pants. When she placed her mouth on him, he had to grip the tabletop firmly to keep from moaning, closing his eyes and hissing a long steam of air between his teeth.   
  
"Rachel," he whispered to no one, not trying to get her attention or anyone's. He was just saying it because he didn't know what else to say. He didn't know what to do. His whole body went tense, like every time before, and he always felt like he should be doing something. SOMETHING. ANYTHING.   
  
"Relax," she ordered from below him. "It's okay," she assured in a soothing, velvety voice. He closed his eyes and gripped the table and clawed at the leather of the booth and flexed every muscles in his body and then relaxed them and groaned and moaned and beat his fist against the wooden slab until he couldn't take it anymore and had to warn her. She told him to go ahead.   
  
Afterwards, she came back up and sat beside him at the table, smiling coyly and knowing fully well what she had just done for him. He would be putty in her hands for the rest of the evening. He cleared his throat, a bit embarrassed, and zipped up his pants and fastened his belt. Even in her drunken state, she saw the embarrassment and the red in his cheeks.   
  
"Why do you get embarrassed every time?" she asked, smiling and taking his hand in hers. He looked at her like she was crazy and missing the obvious.   
  
"Well...you know...you have my...in your...it's just..." She laughed loudly at his fumbling. She was just messing with him and they both knew it, but he wouldn't deny her anything- any act or answer- right now. He sighed and blushed, looking down at his lap.   
  
"You're welcome," she answered, leaning her head against his shoulder and knowing he had no idea how to express his gratitude.   
  
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They all stumbled back to their respective rooms that night around 2:00 am. They'd be leaving that morning close to 7:00 am, so they said their goodnights quickly and retied to their bedrooms to go immediately to sleep.   
  
Ross striped down to his boxers, throwing the dirty clothes into a separate bag and brushing his teeth and washing his face before tending to Rachel. She was just beginning to sober up, but was still exhausted and he let her just lay on the bed as he undressed her. He removed her make-up for her with a warm washcloth and handed her toothbrush.   
  
Once they were done, he tucked her into bed and climbed in beside her, pulling her to rest on top of him and sliding his hands around her waist and over her back. He buried his face in her hair and closed his eyes, wishing that she weren't so drunk so they could have their usual talk before falling asleep. Instead, he settled for asking a simple question.   
  
"Rachel?" he whispered into the dark, unsure that he'd get a reply.   
  
"Uh huh?" she mumbled, already half asleep.   
  
"We'll be together forever, right?" he asked.   
  
"Even longer," she whispered distantly. He did not see her smile as she said it.  
  
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End Chapter 17. Continued In Chapter 18. 


	19. Chapter 19: Nightswimming Revisited

Title: Nightswimming Revisited  
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
Oh God, how long has it been? Bet you thought I'd forgotten, hadn't you? :-) As a reward for your patience, a large part of this chapter will be purely cute Ross and Rachelness!  
  
Also, some of these situations (ie: the swimming pool scene) might seem superfluous (unneeded), but, again, they are just to simulate the decisions and thought processes of the average teenager.   
  
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"Topeka? Where the hell's Topeka?" Rachel asked groggily, waking up from her nap.   
  
"It's the capital of Kansas," Ross informed.   
  
"Smartass."  
  
"It's also our home for the next 15 hours or so, so learn to love it," Chandler informed.   
  
"Ugh," Rachel complained, plopping back down in the seat. "Middle America, my ass."  
  
"Come on," Phoebe urged from the middle section of the car. "Open your mind, Rachel! Topeka could be fun! Have you ever BEEN?"  
  
"Well, no..."  
  
"Then how do you know it's not going to be like the most magical place ever?"  
  
"I don't know," Rachel murmured, sitting back up and leaning against the window. She turned her gaze intensely off into the distance, leaning her head against the pane. "I just want to get to California," she whispered. Ross laid a reassuring hand on her knee.   
  
"I hear Topeka has a California Pizza Kitchen," he joked, rubbing her knee. "I'll take you there tonight and it'll be almost as good as the real thing." She looked over at him and couldn't conceal a smile.   
  
"Okay, now you're just showing off."  
  
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"Woah-ho," Joey exclaimed, walking into the lobby of the latest motel and dropping his suitcase instantly at his side. "What a piece of shit," he whispered to Phoebe, regarding the fairly dilapidated decor of the interior of the motel. She nodded in agreement.   
  
"Well, it's no Indianapolis," Ross confirmed, trying to stay positive, "but we'll be out of here first thing in the morning."  
  
"Oh God," Monica whispered to Rachel as she emerged from the bathroom, clasping her arms like she was either terrified or chilly.   
  
"What?"  
  
"I think I'm going to have nightmares tonight," she whined, obviously referring to the state of the bathroom.   
  
"Just don't touch anything," Rachel warned, subconsciously stepping away from the crackling wallpapered wall. She looked up at the ceiling and behind her like she was trying to avoid all contact with anything in the area. "This place probably hasn't been renovated since the Alamo."  
  
"Okay," Chandler interrupted, handing Rachel and Monica their respective keys. "The rooms are paid for. Ross and I are going to get the rest of the stuff out of the car. You guys can head up to the rooms if you want."  
  
"Oh, hey, wait," Monica insisted, grabbing Chandler's arm. "Did the concierge say if there was anything to do around here for fun? You know, like tonight?"  
  
"No, I think we're pretty much out of luck, other than Pay-Per-View and the swimming pool," he answered. Monica and Rachel's faces both dropped disappointedly. "Oh, and a rousing game of Bingo at the senior center across the street, if you're interested." Monica rolled her eyes.   
  
"We'll see you two in the rooms. Come on, Rachel."  
  
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The rooms were not far removed from the decadence of the foyer. The walls were stained an unintentionally off-white/yellowish color, most likely from cigarette smoke or humidity, and the carpets and linens were faded. Mediocre artwork, sad and isolated in an intangible but stomach-clenching way, hung above the single queen beds in each room. One was of a small boy sending a toy sailboat to sea and the other of an old couple sitting on a rickety wooden bench inside a garden.   
  
"Ugh!" Rachel protested, collapsing on the stiff and inhospitable bed. "I know I've only been here for like 15 minutes, but Topeka? Not impressing me."  
  
"Yeah, well, at least it's only for tonight. By the time everyone gets settled and changes clothes, it'll be time for dinner."  
  
"Are there even any restaurants around here?"  
  
"I think I saw a Popeye's down the street," Monica answered. In return, Rachel squinted her eyes and scrunched up her nose in disapproval. "And the hotel bar it is. Why do you want to get to California so badly, Rach?"  
  
"I don't know," she admitted. "I just do. I just have an expectation that I'll find some sense of peace from all of this there, you know? I mean, it's California! The land of opportunity! The place where dreams come true! It seems to fit."  
  
"Well, that makes sense," Monica affirmed, nodding her head. After a short interim of silence, though, she added "just don't miss out on the little things while you're searching for the big one. There are going to be a lot of Topekas on the way to the few Californias, you know?" Rachel nodded knowingly.   
  
"Yeah," she whispered, looking pensive but also vaguely sad. "I know."  
  
Just then, Chandler and Ross busted into the room clutching bags and suitcases in both hands.   
  
"You girls want to give us a hand here or what?" Ross asked, holding out Rachel's bag for her to take.   
  
"Which room is ours?" she asked him, retrieving her bag and lugging it over to the dresser with both arms.   
  
"You guys just want to take this one?" Chandler asked. "We've got the one across the hall." Ross nodded as Chandler and Monica turned to exit the room. He sighed, shutting the door behind them and slinging the other three suitcases he was holding onto the nearest bed. Walking over to the other one, he plopped down exaggeratedly, his body giving into the mattress and causing the springs to squeak.   
  
"Well, it's not exactly the Plaza," he admitted to Rachel, turning onto his side to face her and propping his head up on a bent elbow. "But I guess it'll suffice for a night." She smiled weakly and nodded, seemingly lost in thought. "What's the matter?"  
  
"Nothing," she lied, shrugging his question off. "I just want to get to California is all."   
  
Tired of beating around the bush and circumnavigating any potential small talk that might be leading up to the real issue at hand, Ross just cut directly to the chase.   
  
"What is it you're hoping to find there, Rachel?" he asked seriously.   
  
"Ugh," she moaned, rolling her eyes in slight annoyance. "Why does everyone keep asking me that?"  
  
"Maybe because you're not doing a very good job at masking your contempt for every place we've stopped that's stood in the way of New York and the West Coast?" he ventured, a bit sarcastically. "Really, Rachel..." he stated seriously, catching her glance with his. "What is it?" Genuine concern filled his words.   
  
Before she could answer, he patted the mattress in front of where he was laying and waited for her to take a few steps forward to sit down next to him. He stroked her arm supportively and caringly while she talked.   
  
"I was talking to Monica about it when you guys came in before," she admitted, her voice small and soft and slightly bashful. "I don't know how to explain it," she continued, her voice cracking and threatening to break. He saw tears beginning to form in the corners of her eyes and he sat up beside her, wrapping both arms around her and pulling her into a full-on embrace on the bed.   
  
"Shhh," he consoled, pressing her head into his best. "You can tell me." She wrapped one arm around his middle and clutched the front of his shirt with the other.   
  
"I guess I just feel like everything will make sense for me when I get there. I feel like I'll finally understand why my mother left my father..."  
  
"Don't you mean why your father leave your mother?"   
  
"No," she whispered, shaking her head slightly. He nodded understandingly and let her continue. "I feel I'm all of a sudden going to have all this clarity about my life--about who I am and why it took me so long to be okay with you, and with my parents, and with everything. I mean, is that...is that completely stupid?" she asked, leaning away from him a bit to search his eyes for the answer.   
  
"No," he answered immediately, placing his hands on her shoulders. "God, Rach, no. No, it's not stupid at all." He pulled her back in for another hug, this time resting his head on her shoulder. He kissed her there, shaking his head still. "Nothing about that is stupid."  
  
"What if I'm wrong, though?" she asked seriously. "What if I get there and nothing's different? Nothing's changed and I'm still just this-this confused, scared, fucked-up girl who doesn't know anything?" He stared back at her as she asked the question, not really knowing what to say. "God, I'm so scared of that, Ross. I'm so afraid of going back home with no answers."  
  
They just sat like that for a while, hugging and listening to the sounds of her crying reverberating off the walls and echoing around the small room. He stroked her hair and kissed her shoulder and rubbed her back until she hiccupped one last, final cry and then he wiped the last tear from her face.   
  
"If you don't find what you're looking for, Rach...then you just don't," he stated flatly. She looked at him perplexed, wondering what kind of solace that was supposed to be offering. He wasn't done, though. "If you go back home just as confused as when you left, then...then I guess you just do. That doesn't mean you'll never know, though, Rachel, and that certainly doesn't mean you're fucked-up."  
  
"I just want to know so badly. I'm so sick of being tired and upset and worried. I just...I just want to be normal for five seconds." He shook his head.   
  
"Rachel, you could never be normal. You couldn't be normal if you tried every day for the rest of your life. You're ANYTHING but normal." She smiled, marveling at how he always seemed to know what to say. "And even if you don't find what you're looking for in California, I KNOW you'll find it somewhere."  
  
She even laughed aloud a bit with his last comment, shaking her head and smiling widely through the remnants of her tears at his affinity for all the right words at exactly the right time. She kissed him softly on the lips and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, getting up to wash her face.  
  
"All better now?" he turned to ask her as she made her way across the hotel room to the sink.   
  
"Yeah," she called from the bathroom.   
  
"Good. You want to shower? I'm going to wait until later because I think this place has a pool and I have every intention of going swimming after dinner," he announced proudly, getting up and walking over to his suitcase to change clothes.   
  
When she emerged from the bathroom, he was lifting his warn-out t-shirt over his head. She smiled at the domesticity of all this. She wouldn't even be 18 for another month, but something in their relationship was so comfortable and made her feel so mature. She never thought by the time she was 17 she'd be in a relationship with the man she was sure she'd marry, sleeping with him on a regular basis and traveling the country at his side. Something in the knowledge that they were comfortable enough with each other to have no inhibitions or even think twice about undressing in front of each other was consoling. As he bent over his suitcase shirtless, searching recklessly for some chance clothing item, she watched the muscles in his back stretch and tighten beneath the expanse of tanned skin. She admired the way his pants hung from his hips and the way his hair was always endearingly tousled. Crossing the room, she snuck up behind him and wrapped her arms around his middle, pressing her face into his back and kissing him in the valley between his shoulder blades.   
  
"Hey there," he greeted her, standing up erect now and smiling contentedly.  
  
"Hi," she responded between small kisses to his back. She placed the palms of her hands firmly against his stomach.   
  
"What're you doing?" he asked, a bit confused at this sudden display of affection. He took her hands from his stomach and kissed them carefully.   
  
"Just got the urge," she explained, now standing on her tip-toes to kiss the back of his neck. He smiled, failing to conceal the excitement she endorsed within him with her kisses and touches.   
  
"You get this particular urge often?" he asked, feeling proud of himself but also a little disappointed that they'd be meeting the other four for dinner shortly.   
  
"Sometimes," she answered casually, shrugging and continuing her parade of kissing along his shoulder now.   
  
"What gives?" he teased, secretly shivering at the prolonged feel of her lips against his skin. "How come you get to have your way with me whenever you please but I always seem to have to ask?"   
  
At this, she moved her hands from his and placed them firmly on his chest, scratching his skin playfully with her fingernails and then running them down the front of his body, stopping just above the waistband of his pants. Paralleling this, she placed a single, open-mouthed kiss in the center of his back, running her tongue along his skin and punctuating it's end up biting down a bit. He closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh.   
  
"Oh...right," he moaned, answering his own question. "That's why."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Dinner at the hotel's restaurant was sub par. It was a quaint little cavern located off the main lobby that was trying failingly to recreate the decor and ambience of an Irish pub. Their waiter looked to be about 16 and the extent of the bartender's capabilities flipping a beer bottle awkwardly into the air. Chandler pointed out that the background music was actually closer to Green than Irish. After a mediocre round of hamburgers and sodas, the group headed back to their rooms to change into bathing suits. It was only 8 p.m. and they still had at least a couple of hours to waste before even thinking about going to bed.   
  
Unable to locate and unsure that he even packed his swimming trunks, Ross settled for the boxers and Army green khaki shorts he was already wearing. He watched Rachel switch into her new bathing suit, seeing it for the first time and realizing that it was white.   
  
"Uh...Rach?" he asked, watching as she finished typing the loose halter strings around her neck.   
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Isn't that going to be a bit...um...see-through? When it gets wet, I mean?"  
  
"What? Oh, you mean because it's white? No, there are like 3 layers inside it. You can't see anything. Why?" she asked curiously, flipping her hair girlishly over her shoulder. He waltzed up to her and placed his fingers lightly on his sides, kissing her on the forehead.   
  
"Just wondering. Didn't want to have to knock out any perverts with wondering eyes," he joked, smiling charmingly but also a bit protectively at her. She patted his chest and brushed past him for the door.   
  
"Don't worry. This thing has 3 layers and just soaks the water right up. After it gets wet, it'll probably just fall right off, anyway," she teased, watching his face drop as she began to walk through the door.   
  
"Hey, Rach, wait a minute!" he called, slipping through the door after her.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
The indoor pool was surprisingly nice, given the furnishings of the rest of the hotel. It was spacious and heated and above it was wrapped a huge, glass dome through which the stars and sky could be seen. Balls, noodles and a small, floating water basketball net were provided by the hotel and the group of 6 were the only ones inhabiting the pool that late at night. Joey and Phoebe were relaxing in the hot tub off to the side, while Monica, Chandler, Ross and Rachel lounged around in the main pool.  
  
"This is boring," Chandler indicated. "There's nothing to do."  
  
"What are you talking about? We're swimming," Ross pointed out. "What more do you want?" He was occupied near the entry steps of the pool where he and Rachel were sitting and playfully wrestling.   
  
"Yeah, but we're not DOING anything," Chandler insisted.   
  
"Swim some laps and quit complaining," Ross shot back at him, content to sit with Rachel. Chandler threw him an evil, mimicking look but Ross didn't notice. He wouldn't have cared if he had.   
  
"You know, you can make out with your girlfriend in your room. You didn't need to come all the way down here to do it," Chandler snarked, earning a disapproving slap on the shoulder from Monica.   
  
"Chandler, quit it," she demanded. "They're in love." She looked at her brother and best friend longingly. As strange as it was, she sometimes envied their complex relationship. Even for all their endeavors and complications and misunderstandings and falling outs, she knew those were the things that made them so inseparable in the end. She loved Chandler, but she felt like sometimes they were even a bit...TOO normal.   
  
"Well, I'm in love, too," he admitted, wrapping his arms around her and smiling. "I'm just in love and restless." Monica smiled back at him.  
  
"Look at them," she said, gesturing towards the couple on the other side of the pool. Ross was sitting on one of the fully-emerged steps and Rachel was leaning into him, splashing water on his face until he stopped her by grabbing her arm, causing her to let out a high-pitched squeal. Monica sighed. "How do you think they got that way?"   
  
"I thought we'd already had this conversation," Chandler pointed out. He looked at them, following her gaze. "Yeah, I mean, they're cute. They're in love. What's so unique about that, though?"  
  
"Oh, come on! Don't tell me you think they're normal." She shook her head, lost in thought, her gaze seeming to go on forever past them. "No, there's something special about them. It's like...it's like their invincible. Nothing could ever break them up."  
  
"Didn't it, though?" Chandler asked densely.   
  
"Not really," she denied. "I mean, sure, the title was gone for a while. THEY were never really gone, though." She turned her head to look at him. "Do you think we could ever be like that?"  
  
"I don't think so," Chandler admitted. He saw the hurt in her eyes and stroked her arms comfortingly. "No, I didn't mean it like that. I just mean...think of all they've been through, you know? That's rare. I don't think there's ANYONE with a history THAT complicated and dysfunctional. Yeah, they seem to make it work, but who's to say anyone else could? I love you, no matter how painfully normal you seem to think we are." She smiled at his revelation and kissed him.   
  
"Not painful," she assured, kissing him again.  
  
On the other side of the pool, Ross pulled Rachel swiftly into his lap, receiving little objection or resistance from her. He was getting antsy. Having to be next to her all night while she was clad in that swimsuit was frustrating, to say the least, and he was losing his patience with her subtle flirtations. She'd been sporadically stroking his leg or grabbing his ass all night and it was getting to him.  
  
"You know, you're going to start having to control these little 'urges' you've been getting all day," he warned, kissing her shoulder and placing his hands on her thighs. "You're driving me crazy. I'm beginning to lose my cool, here."  
  
"Cool?" she teased, scrunching her face in a mock confused look. He grabbed her waist suddenly in retaliation, surprising her and tickling her at the same time. She giggled her patented adorable Rachel giggle and his heart melted for it.   
  
"You want to go outside?" Ross asked quietly, whispering it into her ear.   
  
"Why? What's outside?" she asked naively.   
  
"Privacy," he retorted, giving her a suggestive grin and rubbing his hands up her thighs anxiously.   
  
They got out of the pool, not bothering to towel off, and made their way for the door connecting the inside pool to the outside pool. Both Chandler and Joey simultaneously opened their mouths to say something but Phoebe and Monica shushed him.   
  
"Leave them alone," Phoebe scolded. Joey looked upset.   
  
"Aw, I was going to give Ross a hard time," he protested.   
  
"We know," Monica and Phoebe replied in unison.   
  
Outside, it was already pitch dark, with only the lights coming from underneath the water of the pool offering any illumination. The water was still warm from the blazing sun that day and the added mugginess of the night. They slipped into the water, the rippling of the small waves they caused and the croaking of some nearby mating crickets slicing through the night as the only audible sounds.   
  
"The water's nice," Rachel noted, staying near the edge of the pool.   
  
"Uh huh," Ross confirmed, maneuvering his way over to her with a serious and sexy look in his eyes. She couldn't help but smile.   
  
"What's gotten into you? You've been like poised to pounce this entire trip!"  
  
"Sorry," he answered shyly, resisting reaching out to her now.  
  
"No, no, it's okay," she assured, grabbing his shoulders and rubbing them in small circles. "I was just wondering what the deal was."  
  
"No deal," he answered, shrugging it off casually. "I just can't ever get enough of you. Is that such a bad thing?" he asked, grinning cutely and resting his hands on her sides.   
  
"No.." she whispered timidly, smiling and reciprocating by wrapping her legs around his waist weaving her fingers through his hair. "No a bad thing at all..."  
  
He pushed her back against the concrete side of the pool, kissing her forcefully and securing his hands beneath his ass to hold her up. She made a muffled "umpf" sound when she hit the wall, causing him to break the kiss.  
  
"I'm sorry," he apologized, not wanting to move his hands but kissing her cheek sweetly. "Did I hurt you?"  
  
"No, no," she answered hurriedly, a bit out of breath and pulling him back to her quickly to continue the suspended kiss. The stifled sounds of their hasty breathing flickered and echoed around the outdoor pool area, picked up by the eardrums of no one. After a few elongated minutes of clawing at each other's skin and swimsuits and assaulting each other with their lips, they came up for air.   
  
"It'd be wrong to have sex without a condom, wouldn't it?" Ross asked, not really sure of what he wanted the answer to be. If she said 'yes', that would crush all possibility completely, killing the mood slightly and disappointing him. If she said 'no', however, he'd still know it to be risky but might not be able to stop himself from doing it, anyway.   
  
"I-I don't know," she answered, at least prolonging the finality of the decision. She was breathing heavily right into his face, her breath mixing with his in the space between them. Water dripped from their noses and hair, along with sweat. Was it possible to sweat in a swimming pool at night? Apparently so.   
  
"The guys are right in there," he pointed out, as if they needed another reason to understand that the decision would be stupid.   
  
"Yeah," she agreed, looking down at the water that was lapping at her chest and shoulders. She felt his hands shift on her ass and her crotch shift against his, though, and all thought escaped her mind. "But, you know, I just had my period last week. There'd be almost no chance of me getting pregnant."  
  
He paused to consider this for a moment. God, it was tempting. Did he really want to be one of those guys who had unprotected sex with their girlfriends solely because they couldn't control themselves? She was so incredibly sexy, though, and wet and half-naked right in his hands. She was practically persuading him. Was she right? It was her body. She knew it better than him.   
  
"It's your call, then," he declared, looking steadily and deeply into her eyes. She nodded, answering him silently as she reached between them to unbutton his already-slipping shorts. This was it. There was no turning back. They were going to do this. He was going to feel what it was like to be inside her unrestrained and naturally. The nervousness and anxiety only heightented the intensity of the situation.   
  
They couldn't undress completely in case someone walked by or one of their friends came outside looking for them. Instead, Rachel navigated him through the opening of his boxers and unzipped shorts and let him slide into her after pushing her swimsuit bottoms to the side. With the first stroke, when he pushed himself competely inside her, she let out a loud moan that she soon regretted and was sure everyone in the rooms above them and inside could hear. She didn't care, though. It felt amazing. He felt amazing. He pushed in and out of her, both of them feeling weightlessly dizzy in the water. He leaned into her, resting his head on her shoulder and biting down occasionly on her skin to stifle a groan. She wrapped her legs more tightly around his waist, pressing her heels into his back and urging him on.   
  
"Almost...there," he warned, grasping her ass more firmly for leverage. "Are...you...sure?" he asked, and she knew just what he meant.   
  
"Yes," she managed, closing her eyes and digging her fingernails into his back to let him know she didn't want him to pull out. When he came, he bit down on her neck and his whole body went tense.   
  
"That was so weird," she admitted afterwards, feeling him tense up even more at the revelation. That probably wasn't what a guy wanted to hear right after having sex. "No," she corrected herself, rubbing her hands over his back. "I mean, it was weird...feeling that...happen...inside...You know what I mean!"  
  
"Hmm, I don't think 'weird' would be the word I'd use," he teased, smiling at her. He kissed her nose playfully and patted her ass before gesturing towards the latter. "Want to call it a night? That kind of wore me out." She looked at him quizzically.   
  
"Wore you out? Ross, you're only 18. This does not bode well for your future."  
  
"Hey, now," he cautioned teasingly, tickling her sides as she climbed out of the pool. "Watch yourself or I might hold out on you tomorrow night."  
  
"Tomorrow night, eh? What makes you so sure there's going to be a tomorrow night?" she asked sensually, toying with his mind. She loved doing that. She had such control over him. Before she knew it, though, he'd grabbed her and picked her up in his arms.   
  
"Don't play with my emotions, woman," he taunted, in a mockingly masculine voice.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO   
  
"Ross?" she asked from the bed, watching him walk out of the bathroom after showering later that night with only a towel wrapped around his waist. She was naked, too, and waiting for him underneath the covers.  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"How old do you think someone should be before having children?" Her quesiton obviously startled him and he whirled around from where he was digging through his suitcase, looking concerened and freaked out.   
  
"What? Why? You don't, like, feel weird or anything, do you?"   
  
"No, nothing like that," she assured, laughing at his typical male response. "Just, you know, don't you ever think about us having kids?"  
  
"Oh, well, sure. All the time." He returned to what he was doing, relieved that the question had only been part of standard Rachel chatter.   
  
"How do you see us, you know, in the future? Like, how old are we?"  
  
"I don't know," he answered casually, dropping his towel to put on a pair of plain white boxers. "Maybe like 25 or so."  
  
"Oh yeah? What kind of stuff are we doing?" she asked, scotting over as he climbed in bed beside her. He leaned to turn off the lamp, smothering all light from the room and throwing a blanket of darkness over them. He cuddled up next to her in the spooning position, envelping her in his arms.   
  
"It's kind of random, actually," he admitted. "We're always with the other four and we always seem to be in this funky little coffee house. Just, you know, talking and hanging out."  
  
"Interesting." A few moments of silence passed by with no movement from either one.   
  
"Ross?" she asked suddenly.   
  
"Hmm?" he answered, almost completey asleep.   
  
"Do you think we'll make it to that coffee house?"  
  
"Every day of the week."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 19. Continued in Chapter 20. 


	20. Chapter 20: Redemption Song

Title: Redemption Song   
  
Author: Kaitlyn  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
This will be the last chapter that includes on-the-road stuff. Chapter 21 will land them in California.   
  
Something just occurred to me while I was blow drying my hair the other night and getting ready to go out. I always assumed it was understood that this story took place in modern (2003-2004) but while the characters were younger. Therefore, the 'fro and Flock of Seagulls would be out, as would the clothes and whatnot. I guess I always took that for granted while writing but forgot to mention it. Oh well, the story was intended for the characters to be viewed with modern looks, but it's your imagination!  
  
I am currently working on 2 other pieces in addition to this one. Both of those will debut on this site eventually, but as I'm starting classes again in just under 3 weeks, it's hard to say when that "eventually" will be. They won't be uploaded simultaneously and most likely the first one wont be until this one's finished. The first chapter of both have been completed and they are both very different from this story, as well as from each other. Just wanted to give an excuse for the slowness of updates in advance, in case that happens :-)  
  
Also, please excuse the very unlikely encounter between Ross and "the man" in this chapter. You'll know what it is when you read it :-) I understand how unrealistic it is to happen, but I needed to include it somewhere.   
  
AND, before I get reviews and emails about how Ross is not as violent or as aggressive as depicted in this chapter, I will say that 1) we HAVE seen Ross angry and aggressive (ie: TOW Emma Cries, TOW The Bullies or TOW No One's Ready) and 2) it's my story :-)  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Well, Pheebs, you were sort of right. Topeka was a pretty neat little place," Rachel admitted from the back of the van.   
  
They'd only left it about 3 hours ago, but a part of her already missed it a little. There was an undisturbed simplicity about it that she'd liked and almost yearned for now. Topeka had made her feel isolated but somehow concurrently heightened her sense of closeness to her friends and to Ross. It made her feel lost to the rest of the earth, and therefore made her issues seem less worldly and less socially unacceptable. As absurd has it may have been, being in Topeka made her feel cloaked in a sheet of invisibility to anyone who might have judged her or expected more, and as she hurtled faster towards the West Coast, she craved the feel of California but also resented the spotlight she feared it would restore on her problems.   
  
"Okay, we've got some options," Chandler announced from behind the driver's seat, looking over every so often at the road map Monica had laid out before them. "We can either go for about 6 more hours and end up somewhere in Utah for the night, or we can drive for another 10 and spend the night in Vegas."  
  
"Vegas?!" Joey screeched.   
  
"Yes, Joe, prostitution is legal there," Chandler answered before his friend had even asked. Joey seemed offended. "You also have to be 18, and you've got a few months left, my man. Ross and I, on the other hand..."   
  
"Hey!" Monica yelled from beside him, smacking him on the side of the head with an extra folded-up map.   
  
"Don't even think it," Rachel warned Ross concurrently in the back of the car, waving her finger threateningly in his face but also smiling a bit. Joey chuckled smugly, having earned his justice.   
  
"Well I say we just go straight through to Vegas," Rachel proffered from the back, her legs draped over Ross' as she nonchalantly filed her fingernails and thoughtlessly twirled a piece of hair around her forefinger. Ross, noticing her relaxed deportment, leaned over and whispered into her ear.   
  
"Maybe all you needed was a good lay to unwind a little," he joked, referring to their exhibition in the pool the night before. She scoffed and swatted him hard on the shoulder, raising a loud "ouch" from him and a sulking pout. Out of the corner of his eye, though, he saw that she was smiling.   
  
"Anyone oppose?" Monica asked, referring to Rachel's motion to plow on through. The car rang silent and Chandler stepped on the accelerator, determined to make it to Las Vegas before it was too late for them to enjoy their stay there.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
This hotel, just like this town, was much different from the one before it. It was located on one of the main drags of Vegas, surrounded by the ceaseless hustle-and-bustle of flashing lights, loud music, boisterous outfits and bloated cash-registers. Granted it was a small, loft motel located above a nice restaurant, but it was clean and well-kept and provided a great view and location.   
  
By the time they pulled in, it was already past what could have been considered a normal dining hour and they'd stopped for a big lunch earlier that day, anyway. Tired but determined, all anyone really wanted to do was dress up and paint the town red to celebrate their last night on the road (for at least a week, anyway).   
  
Rachel dressed up in a short white mini-skirt and a simple black tank-top with black stiletto heels, while Monica wore a pair of nice pants and a printed tube-top. Ross gave her an unsteady and disapproving look when she came down to the lobby adjusting it underneath her armpits, but she dismissed it with a brush of her hand and a roll of her eyes.  
  
"Where're Phoebe and Joey?" Chandler asked, after the four of them had been waiting for over 10 minutes.   
  
"Oh, that's right, she told me she and Joey were going to stay in and watch a movie because they were tired. I gave them the name of that club we're going to be at, though, so they said they might come by later," Monica clarified.   
  
"You know, that reminds me, why are we always going to 'clubs'?" Rachel asked, slight annoyance filling her voice. "I mean, we ARE only 17 and 18. Why can't we ever just go out to dinner and a movie like normal people our age?"  
  
"What's wrong?" Ross ask, somewhat concerned. "Do you not want to go?"  
  
"No," she conceded, waving her hand and giving in. "If everyone wants to then it's fine. I just, you know..." She trailed off and never finished the end of her sentence. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what her hang-up was, though. Ever since the "encounter" that had taken place months before with her sister in a club, she had been a bit skeptical about the entire concept. She had kept it to herself in Indianapolis, but she knew Vegas to have a much more vibrant nightlife than Indianapolis and something about that made a difference to her. It felt so impersonal here and that made her uncomfortable. Ross stepped in closer to her and put an arm on her shoulder.   
  
"Hey, look, we don't have to go if you don't want to. We can just catch a late dinner and-"  
  
"No, really, it's fine," she insisted. "Come one, forget I mentioned it. We all got dressed up so let's go have fun!" She tried her best to sound enthusiastic in her last statement, but didn't do such a great job concealing her true discomfort. Ross walked with his arm around her the whole way. Every so often, he could feel her shiver underneath his touch.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Chandler and Ross hadn't even had to use their fake IDs to get into the club. The bouncer, if you could even call him that, since he didn't appear to be "bouncing" nearly anyone, didn't even look twice at them. He didn't stamp their hands, either. This meant he not only thought them all to be over 18, but also over 21, meaning all the drinks they wanted. Somehow, though, based on the incident before leaving the hotel, no one really thought they'd want to drink much that night. Rachel's apparent anxiety had put somewhat of a damper on the evening and now they were mostly all just going through the motions-- going out and dancing because it seemed like the thing to do in Vegas (besides the obvious choice of gambling, which was out do to the necessity of saving their funds).   
  
The club was called Madame Nuit, which Ross informed everyone translated to Mrs. Night. The name wasn't particularly inventive, but then again, it was doubtful anyone besides him was paying any attention to it at all. On the inside, it was actually pretty classy. There were several black leather booths lingering around the outskirts of the dance floor, along with a few decorative displays of working fountains and neon art. The decor screamed early 90's, but it was fun. It probably just hadn't been renovated since it first opened.   
  
"You want a drink?" Ross asked Rachel after wandering aimlessly around the floor once, not as hopeful of her complying as of just getting her to say anything at all. She shook her head no and binded her arms tightly around herself as if she were cold.   
  
"You want my blazer? I checked it at the door, but-"  
  
"No, I'm not cold," she cut him off, shaking her head again. She swallowed deeply and looked around them with almost a hint of paranoia in her eyes. She looked as if she were a combination of waiting for someone deathly ill. Ross was beginning to be genuinely concerned.   
  
"Look, Rach, something's obviously very wrong. If you wont tell me what it is, can I at least take you back home? I can tell you don't want to be here."  
  
"No, Ross, it's not that. I do want to be here, I just...I don't know," she admitted, shaking her head. "I just have this weird feeling."  
  
"What kind of feeling?" he implored, leading her to a table near the corner.  
  
"It's like I'm cold for no reason. No, it's not even cold, it's just like...it's like the kind of cold you are when you're sick. It's like the chills, even though it's hot as Hell in here. I feel like someone's watching us..me..." She stopped, realizing how ridiculous she sounded. She almost even cracked a smile. "God, this is so stupid, I'm sorry."  
  
"No, maybe you are sick. I think we should really just-"  
  
"Oh my God..."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
She'd spotted him.   
  
He'd been watching her ever since she'd arrived that night, not 10 minutes ago. He hadn't been able to believe his eyes. His initial sentiment had been fear, turning over in his mind all the possibilities of her spotting him or, God forbid, even recognizing him. Part of him was sickened by himself--hadn't truly realized the implications of the act he'd committed in the name of his sick, twisted dementia until he'd spotted her again. Another part, though, had felt hot and heavy and impious immediately. His breath had quickened, his pulse racing and his palms sweating. A loud, obstinate ringing had begun in his ears and he'd been able to focus on nothing but her.   
  
He'd been obsessed with her. His passion had grown quickly that night so many months ago, and in the time it had taken to cross the room to where she was, he had been fanatical.   
  
He watched her mouth, now, noting how her lips parted slightly when she was scared or unsure. He watched her touch him--that man she was with--and to say he envied that man didn't do justice to the intensity at which he loathed him for his effortless proximity to her. What he'd give to have that man's arm--the one that she touched so gently and innocently. What he wouldn't give to see her through that man's eyes--ones that looked at her face and saw an equilibrium of passion and lust and love, not fear and disgust.   
  
But now she'd spotted him, and all thoughts of her would be indefinitely suspended.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Oh my God..."  
  
"What? What is it?" he asked suddenly, filled with fear and anxiety. He grabbed her hands across the table. Her gaze was locked over his shoulder, obviously fixated on something on the other side of the room. He turned to look where she was looking, but saw nothing he considered to be out of the ordinary.   
  
"Ross..." she whispered, grasping his hands tightly and digging her fingernails into his skin.   
  
"What? What? Rachel, you're scaring me," he warned, the panic setting in and manifesting itself in his voice.   
  
"Jesus, I can't...I don't understand...I can't believe this," she muttered, and it seemed as if she didn't even understand what she was talking about. Her gaze was still intensely fixed on something off in the distance.   
  
"Rachel, what's wrong? Tell me what's wrong? Do you see someone you know?" Know him? KNOW HIM?  
  
"Ross, it's him," she stated simply, finally tearing her eyes away and gazing into Ross'. She swallowed deeply, burning her irises into his and almost daring him to ask her "who". He did not have to.   
  
Ross was up in a flash, standing and poised facing the direction in which Rachel had been looking. One hand was placed on her shoulder, either for her comfort of for his own, he was not sure which. He scanned the crowd with his eyes, not understanding at first why he could not spot the man on his own. He surely wouldn't have to ask Rachel which one he was. Not only could he not do that to her, but surely he could pick out a man so deviously repulsive and distorted from a crowd of regular people. The devil is not a red man with horns and a tail, though.   
  
In a moment, time stood still. The music stopped thumping inside Ross' head. The dozens of people around him faded away into oblivion, ceasing their gyrations and cavalier laughter. The floor fell out from beneath him and the room disintegrated away like burnt ash from coal. There was nothing--no one--but the man in the black shirt who was making a run for it. Their eyes met in that moment, and Ross saw it. He saw it in the way the man moved. He saw it in the dilation of his pupils. He saw everything Rachel had seen that nice--everything she had experience--and he saw it in a hot flash while the rest of the world waited.   
  
Then he was off.   
  
Ross did not feel his feet move from where they were planted on the floor beside Rachel. He did not remember bounding across the dance floor or how he'd come to be pinning this man to the ground, his arm across his throat, strangling the breath from his lungs. He'd blacked out in one moment and come to in the next, but nothing in between mattered, because a life was now in his hands and he just could not find it within himself to show mercy.  
  
"Yo, this mother fucker's INSANE!" yelled a young white man who'd been standing beside the man underneath Ross when he'd attacked him. The crowd parted a bit, sorted murmurings of "give them room" and "watch out" floating around the room. For long, a small circle had been formed around the two men on the floor, everyone in the club having stopped to watch. That's when the world stopped waiting and Ross started remembering.   
  
"I'll KILL YOU!" he yelled, baring down on the man's throat with no intentions of letting up. The man fought for air beneath him, flailing his arms and legs about desperately but making no movement to fight back.   
  
"You're going to kill him!" someone yelled from the back of the crowd. Ross did not care. In fact, he knew this. He had every intention to carry on.  
  
"Say something you fucking sick bastard!" Ross demanded, gritting his teeth and letting spittle fly from his mouth to the man's face as he screamed. He felt his knee pressing into the man's stomach, flattening and piercing his organs. Still he could not stop himself.   
  
So someone did it for him.  
  
Ross felt strong arms lift him by his shoulder to a standing position. He tried to leap forward at the man before he was able to stand back up and possibly get away, but he was being restrained. Chandler.   
  
"What the hell, man!? Let me go!" he demanded, fighting against his friend and struggling vigorously but to no avail. "It's the guy! That's him!"  
  
"I know!" Chandler yelled back, still using all of his strength to contain Ross. "I know, I saw the whole thing! You can't do this here, Ross!"  
  
"Why the Hell not!?" He was still staring at the man, watching him as he steadily and disorientedly got up from the floor and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth. His eyes had never filled with so much hate. He felt as if bile were welling up there just by looking at the man.   
  
Finally, when Chandler did not answer, he began to understand. Police could get involved. He could spend a night in jail. His parents would find out. Things would get complicated, and for what? This man was not worth the effort it would take to knock him out or kill him, much less the ramifications. Ross stopped his rebelling from Chandler's hold and was soon released. He did not move his eyes from the man, though, and he did take a step towards him, getting directly in his face and pointing a finger between his eyes.   
  
"You listen to me," he began, loathe and disgust pouring from his words. "You're one FUCKED UP son of a bitch, and there's only one thing stopping me from strangling you to death right here and now," he continued, saying his word steadily and slowly so that not just the man could hear him, but everyone else in the club, "and that's that you're not even worth the fucking energy it would take."  
  
While he'd been talking, Ross had subconsciously grabbed the man's shirt collar and was now holding the fabric clenched in his fist. The man remained stoic until Ross finished.   
  
"Fucking energy, eh? Is that what you use on her?" the man asked, grinning smugly at his own pun and deriving his sick pleasure from the hatred he saw building up in Ross' face and the revulsion in his voice.   
  
"You goddamn sick son of a..." Ross spat through a clenched jaw, jerking the man backwards with the one hand on his collar and then winding up, connecting his fist with the underside of the man's chin. The man's head flew backwards, his whole body rocked by the punch and his skin busting open at the point of impact. His blood soaked Ross' fist. Chandler put a hand on Ross' shoulder, letting him know that was enough and signaling that it was now probably time to leave.   
  
Ross made a motion as if he were going to spring at the man again, but stopped himself, shaking his head.  
  
"No, you know what? You're not worth it."  
  
"Oh, come on!" the man provoked. His face was half covered with his own blood and Ross' spit. He'd been backed into a corner, though, and now wanted to make this man suffer. He wanted to make him suffer for taking the thing he wanted the most but would never be able to have. "I fucked your woman! That's not worth another hit?"   
  
Ross' eyes widened. He couldn't even believe what he was hearing. Physical assault was no longer adequate for quenching the contempt he had for this man. In fact, there were no more synonyms to describe the feeling this man aroused within him. It was something so much deeper and hotter and heavier than hate or disgust. There were no word and no actions. He was numb. So he turned to walk away.   
  
"Hey! Ross!" the man shouted. Ross turned around "That's your name, right?" Ross said nothing. "Well, you were right."  
  
"What?" Ross spat.   
  
"You were right. I AM a sick son of a bitch. I'm fucked up," the man admitted, shrugging and even laughing. The entire club was at a stand-still, listening to him talk. "I DID rape her." A collective gasp filled the air. "That's right," he confirmed, nodding his head and looking around at everyone. "I raped her. It doesn't matter, though, Ross, and you know why?" He waited for an answer. Ross didn't give one. "I'm not the one who has to deal with it for the rest of my life. That's right, you heard me. I'm not the one who has to live KNOWING my first time was with a man I didn't know. I'm not the one who has to accept that my girlfriend got screwed by some douche-bag fuck-up while I was nowhere to be found. This isn't my problem, Rossy. This is YOUR problem." To accent the end of his speech, he pointed both his forefingers straight ahead at Ross.  
  
Silence.   
  
What do you say? What was there left to say? Ross had just been humiliated. He had just been told that his life was more or less a shame in front of a room of 70-something strangers. He'd just been given the opportunity to murder a thief and become an instant hero and he'd passed on it. What was the next step?   
  
Not skipping a beat, he took a cloth napkin from the table at his side and tossed it to the man.   
  
"Clean up your face," he whispered, waiting a beat and then turning on his heels. Rachel was waiting at the door. He walked slowly towards her, took her hand and paused to turn to the barkeeper. "Call the police."  
  
And with that, they left.   
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
The devil is not a red man with horns and a tail, and the hero does not always have to sleigh the dragon.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
End Chapter 20. Continued in Chapter 21. 


	21. Chapter 21: Torn

Title: Torn Author: Kaitlyn Rating: R Summary: Burning lungs, dirty dancing, nightswimming and second chances...Loud music, tainted smoke, fiery kisses and racing hearts. Everyone remembers what it was like to be 18. Established R/R and eventual C/M.  
  
In memory of Alicia Scott Land. This could never be enough, but it's something. May she soar with the angels and paint all of their portraits across the sky. I love you, baby, now and forever.  
  
The two songs I use in this chapter are "New Slang" by The Shins and "Let Go" by Frou Frou. Both are off the Garden State soundtrack, which I love, and I HIGHLY recommend that movie. Just to be clear, the first is just a prelude to the chapter. The second is actually incorporated IN the chapter.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth, only I don't know how they got out, Dear.  
Turn me back into the pet I was when we met. I was happier then, with no mind-set."  
  
--The Shins  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"It gains, the more it gives,  
and then it rises with the fall. So hand me that remote.  
Can't you see that all that stuff's a sideshow? Such boundless pleasure-  
we've no time for later, now.  
You can't await your own arrival. You've twenty seconds to compl--"  
  
The car jumped as Chandler failed to dodge a pothole in the road, causing Ross' CD player to skip. The interlude in the steady stream of soothing, melodic music stirred him from his sleep with a start. He opened his eyes, immediately experiencing an unexplainable feeling of panic and confusion wash over him. He darted his eyes around the car, his breathing erratic and his veins cold but paradoxically pulsing with blistering blood. When he found nothing but windows dimmed by the pitch of night outside and four of his friends sprawled out asleep over the seats, he calmed a bit. He wiped a small amount of sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt and closed his eyes.  
  
His face.  
  
It always came back to his face. It was all he'd been able to see for the past 48 hours when he closed his eyes. They were now driving through Nevada. They'd be in San Francisco by sunrise and he hadn't been able to sleep a wink since that night in the bar. Thinking about it still infuriated him, but he knew it was all for not and just looking at her face washed away all his anger. He thought that peculiar, since he'd be inclined to believe in seeing her he'd only be seeing the events of that night and hearing the words of The Stranger, but somehow her face offered a warm penitence and calmed his nerves.  
  
He glanced down at her in their seat. She was curled up in the fetal position with her feet pressed against the side of the car and her head resting on the middle of the seat, barely touching his leg. Her hands were beneath her head and her hair fell in front of her eyes. She looked as if she were shivering (though Ross knew that was probably just him being overprotective), so he took off his over-shirt and laid it across her.  
  
He glanced up briefly at Chandler in the front of the car. He wanted to talk to him. He looked lonely. He didn't want to risk waking anyone up, though, so he opted not to. Instead, he pressed the "play" button on his CD player and let the previously interrupted song play on.  
  
"So let go.  
Jump in.  
Oh, well, whatcha waiting for? It's alright ,  
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown. So let go.  
Yeah, let go.  
Just get in. Oh, it's so amazing here. It's alright,  
'cause there's beauty in the breakdown..."  
  
Maybe it was the word "beauty" that made him glance back down at her. He chose to believe that it was, rather than the more dismal possibility. When he did, though, he was startled at how young she looked. Even with the shadows cast across her face and the downturn of her lips that came with sleep, she looked so small and fragile. He couldn't resist reaching out and stroking her arm with his fingertips. Even in her sleep, her body reacted to him. Her skin broke out in goosebumps and she shifted a bit beneath the flannel of his shirt. He couldn't help but smile, but in the moment he was also torn.  
  
Sometimes he was taken aback at how vulnerable her parents' divorce and the subsequent events of her life had left her. She was strong and proud, refusing to admit it to anyone, but he saw the way she stared wistfully and lost in thought out the window when she thought he wasn't looking. He saw the longing in her eyes for a sense of peace and belonging. He saw the restlessness and, yes, even the twinge of unhappiness that occasionally surfaced. She assured him with every breath she took that none of her impatience was with him, but he had his doubts and it left him oftentimes insecure. She whispered it to him when they made love, but it only seemed to be during the most needy times, when their coming together was more out of need and comfort than passion or tenderness.  
  
She only reassured him that she was completely happy with him when they made love, anymore, and the revelation was always proceeded by a breakdown of tears.  
  
He closed his eyes as he touched her arm, recalling nights tangled in his sheets or lying atop unfamiliar hotel bedspreads, stroking her back and feeling her shake and sob against his chest. He recalled how she told him she loved him--so sincere but so deprived. He never doubted it. Not anymore, and not for even one second. He knew she loved him. He would never distrust that again. They had simply moved past any stage in their relationship where the possibility could ever be present.  
  
He still doubted other things, though, and those doubts were struggling for the surface, now. He doubted for how long she could stay on the road. He doubted her reasons for wanting to be in California. Mostly, though, he doubted how much good he was really doing her, anymore.  
  
When he'd fought the man in the bar, it had come from the most genuine place inside himself. He had not done it to save face or to show off. He'd done it because the very thought of another man with Rachel, especially against her will, disgusted him to the point of vomiting. He'd done it because he respected her and loved her too much not to. Lastly, and most importantly, he'd done it because he would always, no matter where either of them was or how old they got to be, feel a protectiveness and responsibility to her that could never be outgrown or overdone. It was similar to the one he felt for Monica, only more primitive. He knew he had to save her from any and all intrusions, even if that feeling became overbearing at times. He would never stop protecting her. It just wasn't in the cards for him.  
  
Thus was this feeling of opposing forces. No matter how much he wanted to protect her--no matter how much he wanted to save her from everything--he questioned not only his ability but his place. Was that really what she needed? The fact that he'd be attending college soon couldn't be ignored. Next year, she'd be a senior in high school. She'd be making important life decisions and he'd already be starting a new one. He'd have a roommate and an apartment and frat parties. She'd have senior prom to look forward to, and college applications and spring break. Their lives were headed down two completely separate paths, and who knew how far away they'd be from each other?  
  
That was the thing he hadn't told Chandler about his NYU letter. He knew, like everyone else, that he'd been accepted. He hadn't opened it, though, because he knew once it became real he wouldn't be able to leave. He knew if the option to stay with Rachel was presented, he'd be too selfish and weak to turn it down.  
  
Sometimes, he looked at Chandler and Monica and thought that perhaps he was overreacting and overanalyzing (as usual). Couldn't things just be simple? Then, he always realized that they just were not Chandler and Monica, and they would never be simple. Their relationship functioned off it's own entropy. It thrived on divergence and fed off hard word. It was like a bridge whose supports had shifted and was holding itself up from the sheer stress of conflicting forces.  
  
"There's beauty in the breakdown.."  
  
It was beautiful and wonderful and the only thing he could ever imagine needing...but was it meant to come to an end with this chapter of his life? Was turning a new page with such emotional baggage the healthiest option for either of them?  
  
These questions plagued him.  
  
She stirred in her sleep, suspending his thoughts and making him feel immediately guilty. He tightened his eyelids securely shut and clenched his fists uncomfortably, shifting with her out of instinct. Her eyelids fluttered open and she raised her head a bit, looking confused and tired.  
  
"Where are we?" she whispered.  
  
"Nevada. Go back to sleep," he encouraged. Why had he said that? Did he really want her to go back to sleep? It had been an impulse.  
  
"What time is it?" She sat up, obviously set on staying awake now. She wiped some sleep from her eyes and yawned quietly. Ross glanced down at his watch and sighed, realizing the time and suddenly becoming tired himself.  
  
"About 2:15. We'll be there by sunrise." He couldn't look at her, now. Just moments ago the simple act had provided him with such comfort and assurance, but now he felt a hot shame crawl across his skin. The incurable urge to take a shower hit him suddenly.  
  
"What is it?" she asked, sensing his discomfort immediately. And immediately he regretted ever having this internal debate with himself. Why taint the time they had left with questions and second-guessing? And could he ever really look into those eyes and stay confused or irresolute for more than a few seconds? He turned to look at her and smiled.  
  
"Nothing," he shook his head, holding out his arms to her. Sure enough, she crawled into them. He held her at his side and the grave silence of the car allowed him to pretended they were the only ones awake (though Chandler obviously was quite awake in the front).  
  
"I like being back here with you," she admitted. "It makes me feel so safe. It's like this secret time we have together."  
  
"Me too." God, this was killing him. Why wouldn't his thoughts just let him be? He felt like he was cheating on her--betraying her. He was holding her so close to him, burying his head in her hair and kissing her skin, but still thinking such forlorn, prying thoughts.  
  
"I can feel you touch me in my sleep, you know," she offered, somewhat randomly. It took him a second to realize she was referring to the way he'd touched her arm when she'd shivered.  
  
"I didn't know."  
  
"You touched my arm."  
  
"You were cold."  
  
The exchange had been brief and a deafening silence followed shortly after, but it had spoken volumes. Even in sleep, he thought, she's with me. What difference will a few hundred miles make? What difference will a roommate make to the girl whose innocence he'd stolen? What are frat parties when compared with the intimacy shared during their lovemaking? What was her senior prom if he was not the one coming back to take her?  
  
"Will you stay awake with me until we get to California?" she asked, but he could somehow feel her eyelids getting heavy just by the way she spoke.  
  
"Sure." He knew she'd be asleep again in a few minutes, but he'd stay awake for the both of them.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Their admission into California was subtle and hardly apocalyptic, as had almost been excepted. The van rolled across the state line around 3 a.m. with the same ease it had used when traveling the past 3,000 miles of pavement. The air was no different, nor was most of the scenery. In fact, it was lucky that only Ross and Chandler had been awake for their initial admittance into the state, as the sight had been rather dismal and anticlimactic, to say the least. Old, dilapidated gas stations and strip malls seemed to be the only landmarks breaking up the miles and miles of endless asphalt and dirt. Few trees, few hills and few anything surfaced the landscape. Ross had never been to San Francisco, but he only hoped the sight of that city was more comforting than what they'd been seeing for the past few hours.  
  
Around 6:30, just a few moments after the break of dawn, the SUV entered the limits of their destination and the six rose from their slumber as if summoned by some invisible force. Rachel was immediately upset with Ross.  
  
"I can't believe you let me miss it," she pouted. "It's what I've been waiting for this whole time."  
  
"You looked so peaceful," he tried his best to defend himself. "I didn't want to wake you." She remained seated distantly from him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Oh, come on," he pleaded. "As soon as we get to the hotel and rest, we can go explore the whole city together," he promised. He took her hand and caused her to look at him.  
  
"Okay," she submitted. "The whole city?"  
  
"The whole city." He smiled at the hopefulness in her voice. So young.  
  
The hotel was bright and modern, in true California fashion. Their respective rooms contained light hardwood floors, cool shades of lime green and ocean blue sheets and curtains, and spotlessly white comforters, tiles and appliances. All in all, it was subtle and relaxed, conveying the overall ambiance of the state in general.  
  
"So," Ross initiated, falling backwards on the springy bed while Rachel sat down on the couch across from him, "what do you want to do first?"  
  
"I don't know." She sounded a bit defeated. He could tell there were so many thoughts and possibilities flooding her brain that she was unsure about what exactly to do now that she was here. It was overwhelming. He had expected this. He sat up and faced her.  
  
"Do you want to go see her right away?" he asked, thinking that perhaps cutting to the chase would make it all the easier. She shot him an uncomfortable and violated look, as if he'd been reading her thoughts and called her out.  
  
"No," she whispered, shaking her head a bit defensively, almost offended at his comment.  
  
"Sorry..." he trailed off, looking down at his lap. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. "Do you want to take me up on touring the town, then?" he asked, hoping that might relieve some tension.  
  
"No," she denied him, confusing him at first. "I want to do that after I see my mom. I want to do that last, right before we leave."  
  
"So you want the 'official tour' of the city to come after we've already been here for 4 days?" he asked. All she did was nod. He'd let her have it her way, though. "Okay, so that still leaves us with few options..." He knew he'd stated the options, but the tension was mounting by the moment and he hated awkward pauses between them.  
  
"Ross?" she asked feebly, sound tired even though she'd slept for almost 7 hours in the car. "Can we just take a nap?" Her suggestion made him smile, and though a nap at 7:30 in the morning seemed odd, he rounded the bed to turn down the sheets and waited for her to slide in beside him.  
  
He knew she was exhausted, and not from any sort of sleep deprivation. Her mind was working overtime. She'd been waiting for months to get here, expectations of justification and peace filling her thoughts and dreams. Now that she was here, she knew she'd have to be the one to fulfill them and make this trip everything it was supposed to be for her. No matter how badly Ross wanted to help, he wouldn't be able to. It was all on her, and that notion scared her. She was only prolonging the inevitable of having to face her mother, but Ross would be there to do whatever she needed to prepare herself.  
  
He wanted to ask her so many questions. He wanted to enquire about what she would talk to her mother about. He wanted to know what EXACTLY she expected to find here--to discover--but he knew that question was futile, anyway, because he'd never get a straight answer. Childishly, though, he wanted to just ask her all the questions he already knew the answers to but loved hearing; things like 'Do you still love me?' and 'Do you think we'll make it through all this?'. They'd discussed all those things a million and one times, but he loved the reassurance.  
  
Instead, though, he said nothing.  
  
Once she'd fallen asleep (which didn't take long), he slipped out of bed and went to sit on their ocean-front balcony. It was only 8:00 am and people were just beginning to scatter out onto the beach. He could see Alcatraz in the distance and he let scenes from "The Rock" play through his head to keep his mind occupied. After a while, though, he ran out of memorable moments and was forced to think about what he'd really gone out there to address.  
  
He pulled his legs up into the chair with them and sat with his arms looped around his knees and the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up over his head. It was summer and it was California, but the sun was far from high in the sky and early-morning winds were coming off the water. For some inexplicable reason, his thoughts immediately went to a particular scene from when they were young kids.  
  
It was on his 9th birthday, though Monica and Rachel were both still 7. He'd gotten a new bike and he was letting the girls take turns riding it at the top of their driveway. When it had been Rachel's turn, like with Monica, he ran beside her the whole way, holding his hand right beside the seat. When she'd gotten to the corner of the street, though, a car had come speeding around the turn and had just missed her. They slammed on their breaks and Rachel screeched on hers as well, falling from the bike. Ross can't recall it, himself, but Monica always told him that she'd never forget the yell he'd let out when he thought Rachel had been hit.  
  
The recollection made him want to cringe and laugh at the same time. The thought that he'd always had this inherent desire to protect his little sister's best friend, even before he had ever dreamed of being attracted to ANY girls, was partly comforting and partly damning. The concept of forever scared, Ross, just as the concept of fate scared him. While he supported it, he had to admit that free will was a far more preferable theory. Just the thought that his ties to Rachel could never be severed made him feel trapped, and certainly not because he wouldn't make it his first priority to be with her forever, but because the thought she SHE might be forever bound to HIM scared him.  
  
So much was riding on her conversation with her mother.  
  
He sat out there for a long while, watching the tide retreat and then crash down onto the shore. He watched the couples walking hand-in-hand and suddenly wished that Rachel was awake. He didn't know what for. Even if she did wake up, things would be awkward between them. That was one of the most infuriating and confusing things about their relationship--things could get uncomfortable for no reason at all other than a few errant thoughts. Their respective minds would wonder and bam, there would be discomfort. They both knew it, too.  
  
Regardless, however, just before he was considering going back inside, he felt a small and easy hand on his shoulder. He craned his neck and saw that she had snuck up behind him. She smiled warmly and took the seat beside him, folding herself up into the chair and wrapping herself inside the blanket from the bed. He noticed immediately that she was naked beneath it. He hadn't remembered her taking her clothes of for her nap. Perhaps she had. It made him sad, then, that he had not joined her, and not just because he loved seeing her naked. It made him sad to think that she had slept that way in a bed that was not meant for him, even if it was not meant for anyone else, either.  
  
"How long have you been asleep?" he asked. She answered without taking her eyes off the water.  
  
"Almost 3 hours, I guess. It's about 11 now," she asserted. She looked at him. "Is that how long you've been out here?" He nodded. "What have you been doing?"  
  
"Just thinking," he replied casually, warning her not to worry with his tone of voice.  
  
"Anything important?" she asked, knowing that it was but also knowing that he'd never admit it. They both knew whatever he was worried about regarded them. It almost always did anymore.  
  
"Isn't it always?" he cracked, smiling comfortingly, though.  
  
"Ross..." she pleaded, causing him to look at her alarmingly. Her face was begging him to stop whatever he was in the middle of inside his head. She placed her hand on his arm. "What's the matter?"  
  
"I've just got to get out of here," he sighed, shaking his head and standing up from the chair. Her face dropped in anxiety and confusion. She stood, too, pulling the blanket more tightly around herself.  
  
"Where are you going?" she asked, following him inside the room from the balcony. "What's all this about?"  
  
"I don't know," he admitted, searching the room for his wallet and room key. She was just glad he didn't ask "what's what about?" She had half expected that.  
  
"Will you just stop for a minute?" she almost yelled, grabbing his hand. "I at least deserve an explanation! This came out of nowhere. Did I do something wrong?" she asked, and he could tell that she was genuinely asking.  
  
"No!" he shouted, immediately regretting it. She hadn't deserved that. That was party why he wanted to leave. The tension was mounting inside him and he hadn't wanted to blow up on her. Too late. "I'm sorry," he apologized, shaking his head and looking down at the ground. "No, you didn't do anything wrong, Rachel," he assured. "I know this is from nowhere...but since when has anything between us not come from nowhere?"  
  
He grinned, trying to ease the tension, but she saw through it. She didn't even crack a smile. Her gaze was as focused and serious as he'd ever seen it. He thought he saw her eyes begin to gloss over with tears, and that's when he knew he had to leave. Seeing her cry would surely break him completely this time.  
  
"Look, I'll be back soon." He nodded once and turned to leave.  
  
When he actually made it to the other side without her saying his name, part of him felt disappointed.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO End Chapter 21. Continued in Chapter 22. 


	22. Chapter 22: Wise Before Her Years

Okay, so I swear to God this update was going to be sooner, but I was really wrapped up the other night in finishing this article I was writing and then making a submission to this very well-known magazine that I obviously wanted to make PERFECT...and...well...I guess I saved a few things to THIS folder that I wasn't supposed to. That sucked a big one, but not to fear, because this ride's almost over, anyway. That's right. After the next chapter, in the words of Elton John, "that train don't stop here no more". Maybe when it's over you will have enjoyed it enough to be GLAD I drew it out for so long :-)  
  
Did I mention how much I LOVE Garden State, and, subsequently, its soundtrack? Seriously. Big shout-out to Zach Braff for like single-handedly putting together that entire film AND compiling all the music. I know I included two songs (my favorite two) off the soundtrack in the last update, and don't you kiddies think I have any qualms about including another in this one. It's not MY fault they fit the context...  
  
Enjoy. We're almost done.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Half of the time we're gone but we don't know where, and we don't know here." -- Simon & Garfunkel  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
The bus rose and fell with the potholes and speed bumps in the road. Rachel leaned her head against the cool window pane and watched the ceaseless rows of townhouses and corner stores pan by. She'd opted for taking a bus rather than a taxi, because it was less expensive. She'd only had $10 in her pocket when she'd left that afternoon and the address she had written on her hand belonging to her mother was that of a condo all the way across town, in North San Francisco. Figures. Leave it to her mother to move someplace as ritzy and chic as San Francisco and THEN have to move to the richest section of it, as well.  
  
Just as the tram began rolling to a stop on her mother's street, the skies opened and a soft drizzling started up. Also figures, she thought.  
  
She paid the fare and barely had time to step off onto the curb before the driver slammed the door to her back and sped away. That was something that had surprised her about this city, and not for the better. From what she'd experienced of it so far, it seemed even colder and more indifferent than New York. At least she knew New York. At least she felt comfortable there. This town-- right now the rain and the cloudy sky and the isolated section she was in made it more liken to a town than a big city-- seemed to be swallowing her already and she hadn't even made it to the difficult part, yet.  
  
She crossed her arms over her torso and bent her neck down, as if that were going to protect her from the rain. Despite the downpour, though, she paused at the bottom of the steps leading up to the house. It was massive. Though a townhouse, it was still 3 stories tall and somehow an amazingly immaculate white, even through the dreariness of the rain and smog. Peaking out from behind the shrubbery at the side of the house, Rachel could see a small moving truck and a few men in brown jumpsuits carrying furniture in through the back. Maybe this was a bad time, she thought, wishing now she'd had the presence of mind to grab Ross' hooded sweatshirt before walking out the door. It was raining and she was obviously still moving in. Maybe she should come back another time?  
  
No. She couldn't talk herself out of this one. This was something she was just going to have to do, and without Ross or Monica or anyone else there to hold her hand.  
  
Ross. Her thoughts were diverted for a moment to the thing she had managed to will herself from thinking of all morning. There it was again, though, in the back of her mind. It had never really left. Where was he? She knew he couldn't have come with her, anyway, but she still yearned for the small comfort that would have come from at least knowing where he was-- that he was waiting and wishing for her.  
  
She pushed the thoughts away. This wasn't about that right now. Maybe it was. Maybe that's all this was about-- Ross, and her coming to terms with everything he meant. Perhaps she secretly knew that confronting her mother and the abrupt termination of her relationship with her father was the only way to ever find true peace of mind and happiness with Ross. If not...then she didn't really know WHAT she was here for. She'd find out soon enough.  
  
She journeyed up the steep concrete stairs that were imbedded in the earth and bordered by an assortment of colorful flowers that she knew her mother would have every intention of watering herself but would soon enough hire someone to tend to for her. She made it to the landing and rang the doorbell, not surprised when Theme from the New World Symphony exuded itself from the speaker. She smiled. She had been expecting that, or something equally as pretentious. Nothing was too good for her mother. Apparently not even her father. Stop it.  
  
The door opened and there she was, just like she'd never left. She didn't look a day older. She even looked younger, if anything. She was wearing white pants and a white three-quarter-length shirt with a white scarf tied around her neck and sunglasses. Sunglasses inside on a rainy day. That's mommy.  
  
"Rachel, darling, is it really you? Oh, come here, sweety!" her mother practically squealed, pulling her daughter into an all-out embrace. Rachel stiffened upon contact, a bit surprised and unprepared, but relaxed into it after a moment.  
  
"Hi Mom," she almost sighed, getting exhausted just looking at her.  
  
"I just can't believe you're here! You should have given me fair warning-- I would have tidied up a bit!" Rachel looked around the foyer and off-shooting rooms. They were all completely empty, save a few random cardboard boxes and lonely pieces of furniture.  
  
"Is this new stuff?" Rachel asked, squinting her eyes in confusion. Why would her mother have bought all new furniture? She'd 'won' most of their possessions, not to mention her father's prized car, in the divorce battle.  
  
"Oh, yes, dear. You know, your father tried desperately to get rid of all that old junk along with me, but I wouldn't have it. He kept what we didn't throw out all together and I..." she paused, looking around and smiling in self-satisfaction, "...I got this. Isn't is beautiful?"  
  
"Yes," Rachel lied. It WAS beautiful, but she couldn't think so in that moment-- not when all of her childhood memories had just been referred to as 'junk'. Snapping out of it, she realized her mother was looking around nervously in search of something or someone.  
  
"Are you still moving in, Mom? Is this a bad time?" Don't try and get out of this, Rachel. You're here for a reason. You're sticking to your guns. You're toughing this out.  
  
"Oh, don't be silly! No, no, come in! Tell me, what are you doing all the way out here?" she asked, leading Rachel frantically down the main downstairs hallway and into the back of the house where the kitchen was.  
  
"Well," she began to explain, following modestly and unsurely, "Monica and some of our friends decided to come out here on a whim before school starts back up."  
  
"And your aunt just let you go? Oh, she would. Your father's sister is a DREADFUL woman. She never did like me." Rachel would have probably actually answered her mother truthfully in telling her that her aunt knew nothing of the trip, but she wasn't able to get a word in edgewise. She was used to this, though, and had learned how to forget almost all thoughts or wishes to express them as soon as they flew into her head whenever she was around her mother. "So, what compelled you to come visit me? Surely you have better things to do in sunny California with your friends than to come hang out with your old mom," her mother wagered, now searching through the new refrigerator for something for Rachel to drink. She wasn't thirsty, of course, but that didn't matter.  
  
"Um," Rachel hesitated, wondering if she should bring up the inescapable now or wait politely after a few more grueling minutes of small-talk and chitchat. She opted for the former. "I want to talk about dad."  
  
Silence.  
  
"No," she corrected herself. "No, actually, I want to talk about a lot of things. I want to talk about everything." There. She'd said it. 'Everything'. That pretty much covered it. She hadn't left anything out.  
  
Ms. Green removed her head from the fridge and turned to face her daughter, smiling forcefully.  
  
"Well," she stated, almost whispering it, "I guess we both saw that coming, now didn't we?" The older woman walked quietly from where she stood into the living room, which was right off the kitchen and consisted so far of a lonely gray couch and a bookshelf. Her mother never read anything besides Vogue and Vanity Fair, Rachel noted. "Where exactly do you want to begin, sweety? 'Everything' is a lot to handle all at once." That was probably the most honest, sensible thing she'd heard her mother say in a long time.  
  
"Why don't we start with why you didn't come to visit me in the hospital?" she asked prudently, taking a deep breath afterwards and realizing that she'd chosen the road less traveled-- the hard way out. She watched as her mother carefully deliberated over this, rolling around in her mind the possible answers, none of which would be the truth and it was tiring for Rachel to even think about how long this would all take if they couldn't just be honest for once.  
  
"Honey, I told you. There were no flights out and I--"  
  
"No flights from California to New York, Mom?" Her tone was raised and her voice was questioning. She was already beginning to lose her tact and this was only the tip of the iceberg.  
  
"That's a difficult thing for a mother to have to watch, Rachel, " she rattled off so mechanically and matter-of-factly that Rachel felt like she was back in the hospital all over again, listening to doctors explain things she didn't want to hear and was incapable of understanding.  
  
"Yeah? Well it's a difficult thing for a girl to have to EXPERIENCE, Mom, but I didn't really have much of a choice, now did I?" she asked, practically shouting this time. She could see the astonishment in her mother's eyes at the way she'd raised her voice to her, but she didn't care.  
  
"Rachel, I thought we had an understanding about this. Why are you bringing this up now?"  
  
"What 'UNDERSTANDING' did we have? The only thing I understand is that you just weren't there! You haven't been there for a while, Mom, but this? This was a time when I really just needed my mother." The guilt trip. Intentionally or not, she had laid it on thick and she could sense from the stoic, rigid way her mother was sitting that it had worked.  
  
"Is that why you're really here, Rachel? Because you need your mother back?" she asked, smiling a bit from the corners of her mouth. She sounded almost hopeful, but one could scarcely tell from the thick layer of shame that covered it.  
  
"No," Rachel stated simply, shaking her head. "No, I'm here..." She paused to think, searching hard for the words that would let her mother know the truth. She knew her choice of phrases would most likely be crushing no matter what, though. "I'm here because I want to know that I don't need my mother back."  
  
"Excuse me?" she asked, lifting her hand to her chest in the universal symbol of having taken offense.  
  
"That's right," she continued, though her throat had instantly gone dry and she felt as if she were going to vomit. "I don't need you back, Mom. If you want to start your life over and you think you need to be alone to do it, fine...but I need to know that I'm not like you. I think I need YOU to know that, too."  
  
"Of course you're like me, Rachel! Maybe not in every way, but you and I come from the same mold, darling. I know you think I'm terrible for leaving you and your sisters like I did, but--"  
  
"Abandoning, Mom. You didn't just leave us-- you abandoned us."  
  
"It's all the same, Rachel, really! Stop being this way! If you only came to my home to disrupt me starting over and insult me than I really think you ought to be getting back to your friends, now," she insisted, moving to get up from the couch. Rachel was not done, though, and she followed her mother determinedly into the kitchen.  
  
"That's just it, Mom! You're starting over! You're starting all over and forgetting everything you worked for--everything you sacrificed for so many years to be with Dad! Everything HE sacrificed! You're just giving up! You're so disgusted with all of it that you couldn't even make yourself come back to be with your daughter when she was in the hospital!"  
  
"Don't presume to know me, young lady!" her mother shouted, whirling around to face Rachel and pointing her finger at her. The look on her face had transformed from hurt to aggressively stern. She'd clenched her jaw and dug in her heels and wasn't budging, now, against Rachel's formerly dominant control over the conversation. "I gave your father the BEST years of my life and that wasn't good enough for him! HE'S the one who left his little princess, Rachel, NOT me! I think you're forgetting that! So don't come around here making accusations and pointing fingers because I'M just making the best of what he left me!"  
  
"But why does the 'best' have to be without anything from before!?" she yelled, tears threatening to stain her cheeks now. "Just because things get difficult, that doesn't mean you have to give up on EVERYTHING! I learned that at 17 and you can't even learn it in your 50's!"  
  
Rachel was crying, now. Her face was red and salty wetness trickled down her cheeks. Her mother stopped, choosing not to retaliate with force but rather with insight, in that truly motherly way that she still felt some of inside herself.  
  
"This is about Ross, isn't it?" she asked. She almost smiled. Rachel wasn't sure if it was from contentment in her ability to still be able to see through her daughter or out of smug satisfaction that not ALL of her daughter's hostility was aimed at her. When Rachel didn't answer but looked away, her mother nodded. "I should have known," she murmured. "Always something or another about that boy..."  
  
"So what if it is?" she yelled, feeling the urge to maintain her level of control. If she didn't, all of her emotion would surely crumble to depression and sadness and she'd end up nothing but a pool of wilted misery on the floor of her mother's new kitchen. "It's not like you'd understand! You don't know anything about REAL love! You don't know anything about sticking around when things get rough, and even if you did, you CERTAINLY wouldn't know enough about ME to care or listen!"  
  
Her mother's next move was possibly the most unanticipated in the annals of all her history. It was more unexpected even than the divorce or her sudden cross-country move. She hugged Rachel. She stepped forward and embraced her broken daughter, pressing her head against her bosom and stifling and shakes and sobs that eradiated from her.  
  
"Shhhh, baby," she whispered. "It's okay...it's okay." Rachel wrapped her arms around her mother, seeking both comfort and refuge from all the fighting and yelling and bitterness. All the resentful things she'd just said didn't matter, and her mother knew that possibly before she'd even uttered them.  
  
"I just want to know that it'll be okay, Mom!" she sobbed into her mother's blouse, squinting her eyes and hiccupping like a baby. "Everything changed-- everything's still changing-- and I just want to know we're going to be okay! I just want to know we're going to be together..."  
  
"I know," she consoled, nodding in agreement. "I know you do, sweety." She rested her chin on her daughter's head. "Oh, Rachel, we're so much more alike than you'll ever know."  
  
"What?" Rachel asked, sniffling a bit and turning her face up to look at her mother.  
  
"Don't you think that's what I wanted too, baby? Don't you think I wanted to love your father until the Heavens collapsed? Don't you think I'd STILL be loving him today if it could be helped?" Ms. Green stated asked softly, stroking her daughter's face.  
  
"So what's the difference?" Rachel asked naively. "What's going to keep Ross and I together that tore you and Dad apart? What's going to keep me from running?"  
  
"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel," her mother nearly giggled, shaking her head from side to side. She had Rachel's face clasped between her hands, along with her full attention. "Youth."  
  
"Huh?" Rachel asked, more than a little confused. Hadn't her parents been only a little older than her when they'd gotten engaged? "But I thought you and Daddy were--"  
  
"No," she insisted, shaking her head. "Not AGE. YOUTH. Passion. Determination. Adventure. YOU have all those things, baby girl, and so does Ross. I see it in both of you, and I see it even more when you're together. THAT'S youth. No matter how old you get, Rachel, I don't think you could ever run like I did. You have too much ambition. You have too much youth."  
  
"So you're saying you and Daddy didn't have that youth, and that's why you couldn't stay together?"  
  
"Oh," her mother reminisced, sitting down on the barstool behind her. "Your father and I were a hundred years old by the time we graduated from high school, Rachel. We never had time for that. There was a war to be won and families to be built and no one we knew really cared too much if we were 'in love' or not. We had our time. Don't think we didn't. But we had to leave."  
  
"But WHY?" Rachel squeaked, her voice small still and carrying all the weighty unfairness she felt for her parents within it.  
  
"In the end we were just too tired to stay." She paused for a moment before continuing. "Rachel, I don't think I ever really taught you much of anything. I understand that most of what you know came from teachers and friends and--"  
  
"No, Mom, you did tea--"  
  
"Don't interrupt, Rachel, I want to say this. It's important. Now, I know I didn't teach you much of anything, and you'll probably walk out of this house today for the first and last time in your life...but, dammit, I'm going to teach you this one thing before you do.  
  
Stay young, Rachel. You have enough common sense to understand that nothing stays perfect forever. You have enough knowledge to know that things REALLY worth fighting for are going to be the hardest things to convince yourself of. You have that already. Now all you need is to remember to be a child. Be a child for as long as you can, sweety. That was all that ever stopped your father and me. We were far too serious -- to pessimistic and grown-up to keep things the way they should have been.  
  
"Don't worry about things falling apart or falling out of love, because the moment you do, Rachel, that's when you stop being a child. Don't THINK, baby. Just DO it. Just LOVE him and let him love you. Once I started thinking too much, that's the moment I lost your father. So everything else? It'll take care of itself."  
  
This was a lot of information for Rachel to take in at once. Her mother had never said this many words to her before her in life, and now that she was, it was about something that could potentially save her relationship with Ross-- something she thought her mother knew nothing about. For the third time since she'd been there, Rachel began to cry.  
  
"Well if it's just that simple than how come we can't DO that?" she cried into her hands, resting them on her knees where she was hunched over on the couch. She pushed some damp hair from her face. "Why can't we just make it EASY for ourselves, Mom? We make things so goddamn difficult!"  
  
"I know you do, Rachel, but it's the nature of being young! What kind of teenager would you be if you always looked for the easiest way out instead of the most dramatic?" she asked, smiling at her daughter and even earning a small grin from Rachel in return. She hugged her again. "Listen, Rachel. I know it's hard, and I know you feel like the world's just going to end if you don't have all the answers now...but that's part of the problem, dear. Just be young. If he loves you and you love him, just go to him and love him and let things be. You do still love him, don't you?"  
  
"Yes," she answered unequivocally, nodding her head profusely.  
  
"And he still loves you?"  
  
"I know he does," she whispered, smiling a bit.  
  
"Then don't even tell him about this. Don't even let him know it was ever bothering you."  
  
"I think he already knows," Rachel nearly giggled, wiping her eyes. "It's kind of been an ongoing thing for a few months-- ever since the hospital, really," she added.  
  
" Well, just go to him and sit beside him and be with him, then. That's really all you've ever had to do. Just be young together."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO End Chapter 22. Continued in Chapter 23. 


	23. Chapter 23: To Someday Come Home

All songs used in this chapter are from the musical "Children Of Eden" and obviously don't belong to me.  
  
This is the last chapter.  
  
This ending is an inscrutable one. It's the only real ending this story could ever have had. Everything else up until the final scene has been superficial in relation. This IS the story. If you don't like it, you never could have. )  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"You will know heartache, prayers that don't work, and times of bitter circumstances, but I still believe in second chances.  
Children of Eden, where have we left you?  
Born to uncertainty-- destined for pain. Sins of your parents haunt you and test you. This your inheritance-- fire and rain.  
Children of Eden, try not to blame us.  
We're just human, to error prone.  
Children of Eden, will you reclaim us?  
You and your children to someday come home" -- Eve (the musical "Children Of Eden")  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Even as she left her mother's house, she had mixed feelings.  
  
After all this time. After all the coming togethers and breaking aparts, the surprises and familiarities, the comfort and the pain, the loving and hating, the crying and laughing, the joking and screaming. After the 3,000 miles traveled from coast the coast and the 3 blocks from house to house...she was still confused. It seemed almost impossible that anyone could hang onto something so uncertain-- something they were so scared of. It seemed even more impossible, though, that she could BE uncertain after everything her mother had told her.  
  
She didn't bother hailing a cab. The downpour had subsided to a soft drizzling and she was already soaking wet. The street of townhouses her mother lived on ran parallel to the sea, so she opted to walk along the infinite stretch of soda shops and laundry mats, watching the waves crash against the shore whenever the buildings broke apart to accommodate an alleyway or parking lot. There were few people out, as it was so dismal and foggy, and the section of town was far more residential than commercial. The sun was beginning to dip down beneath the horizon and the sky was just one giant blanket of gray, with no distinction between the individual clouds.  
  
Rachel walked straight through the puddles, not particularly caring if she got dirty--something entirely uncharacteristic of her. She looked down as she strolled, noticing the way the cement had cracked so long ago, creating a meandering web of uneven ridges along the walkway. She watched the small stream of water that ran from storm drain to storm drain, washing away bits of debris and oil that had collected on the street.  
  
Where was she going? She didn't really know. She wasn't even walking in the direction of their hotel (not that she could get there if she were, as it was all the way on the other end of the city). Every thought that ran through her head was dramatically different, and she entertained each one with such a tired, surrendering detachment that even she didn't consider any of them seriously. It was probably the least productive way to solve a problem-- conjuring up ideas such ambivalence-- but she knew of no other way. She was exhausted, and she knew that if she couldn't take her mother's advice now, she'd lose him forever. She had to at least try to find her own way, though. Even if it was the same as her mother's, she'd have to at least pretend it was hers.  
  
She had to do this her own way or not at all, and not at all meant losing him forever. Now.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
"Oh this daughter of mine, I love so well,  
and all the toil it takes.  
I'd give to her a garden and keep it clear of snakes,  
but the one thing she most treasures is to make her own mistakes.  
She goes charging on the cliffs of life-  
a reckless mountaineer.  
I could help her not to stumble,  
I could warn her what to fear.  
I could shout until I'm breathless and she'd still refuse to hear."  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
Somewhere intertwined in all the thoughts and half-hearted considerations was the one she feared and yearned the most. To leave him.  
  
She thought about it seriously from time to time. She really did. She thought about doing it all over again-- the leaving. She thought about packing up all her things one night and running off to her sister's again. With her parents gone, it would be almost too easy. So much easier than what her mother had recommended. Somehow, the hardest part of being with Ross was just BEING with him-- being with him in a normal way. She didn't think they really even knew how to do that. They had never been normal before. They'd never been functional or rational. They'd never made sense. Did she even WANT for them to make sense? Would finding him now, sitting down beside him and being normal with him jeopardize everything they'd stood for all this time? Would breaking his heart once-- just once, but for good-- be better? Wouldn't that be more "them", after all? Wouldn't that make more sense than a happy ending?  
  
Wouldn't letting him find someone else-- someone more like himself-- make him happier and be better for them both?  
  
Wouldn't it break her heart?  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
And for the boy who's given me the sweetest love I know-  
I wish for you another love so you won't be alone.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
No.  
  
She couldn't do it. If being with him all this time had taught her one thing, it was to be selfish with the one you love. She had tried that selfless bit once before and it had almost broken them up for good.  
  
Why was taking her mother's advice-- finding him and letting him love her, no walls and no boundaries-- so hard?  
  
It was almost completely dark, now. She imagined it was somewhere around 7 p.m., but she couldn't be sure. She could no longer see the waves, but instead only heard them as they made one boisterous introduction after another with the sand. She stopped at the end of one sidewalk, where the buildings broke apart, and turned to her left to look straight down an alleyway towards the ocean. She took off her sandals and carried them in her hand, making her way down the dark lane, up the rickety wooden stairs and onto the beach.  
  
The backs of the buildings were lit up with lanterns, casting some soft illumination onto the sand. As she walked, she sang to herself.  
  
"And it's only in Eden, grows a rose without a thorn.  
And your children start to leave you on the day that they are born.  
They will leave you there to cheer for them.  
They will leave you there to mourn, ever so.  
Like an ark on uncharted seas, their lives will be tossed,  
and the deeper is your love for them,  
the crueler is the cost.  
And just when they start to find themselves is when you fear they're lost."  
  
She imagined finding Ross out there on that beach. How simple would that be? How appropriately anticlimactic? She considered the circularity of the beach, itself, as she passed by the remnants of a half-erect sandcastle. This is where you come to spend the day in the sand as a baby. This is where you come to have your heart broken by your first boyfriend. This is where you come to reconcile that heartbreak, and this is where the boy always proposes to the girl in the picture shows. This is always the last place the woman walks before being bedridden after the drawn-out death of the man, and this is where the sunrise memorial service is held.  
  
"Just when they start to find themselves is when they fear they're lost."  
  
Just then, as if on cue, she spotted him.  
  
He was sitting in the dry sand, several yards away from the water, with his knees bent up in front of him and his arms hooked around his legs. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. She couldn't ever remember seeing anything so beautiful in all her life.  
  
He was wearing a pair of khaki pants and a simple, white, long-sleeved shirt. He was barefoot and the ends of his pants were rolled up almost to his knees to keep from getting wet. The wind tousled his hair, his jaw clenched and his eyes serious with wonderment. He was staring out over the ocean, still completely unaware of her presence.  
  
She swallowed deeply. How had he gotten this far away from the hotel? Had he followed her here, chickened out and then walked a ways down the beach? Was he waiting for her? Did he WANT her to find him? Unsurely, she threw caution to the wind and began walking steadily towards him. Though she was still several hundred yards away, she was scared to death of him spotting her. She wasn't sure why.  
  
He looked so pensive and firm, surely lost in thought and suspended in some vague consideration that he'd never tell her about but was almost surely about her-- about them. She wished she knew what he was thinking. That would make whatever she was about to do-- and let's be clear that even she had no idea what that was-- so much easier.  
  
As she got closer, she became increasingly certain that he was aware of her presence. He acknowledged her in no way-- didn't turn his head, didn't bat an eyelash-- but some part of her told her he knew. As she felt her feet moving her body closer to him, a calm serenity washed over her. She knew, without a doubt, that this was going to be the most important intervention of her life so far. This was it. It was an unspoken "it", as were all the "its" between them, and it had been provoked from nowhere. This was THE "it", though.  
  
She descended into the sand beside him. Her blood had never felt so hot, her head so heavy or her heart so fulfilled. Her pulse raced.  
  
Just when they start to find themselves is when they fear they're lost.  
  
They sat like that beside one another for a few minutes in their serene yet painful entirety, watching the waves lap at the seashore and the sun sink into the ocean. For a brief moment, she felt his shirtsleeve brush against her forearm and her heart shot up into her throat. She jerked her head to the side impulsively to look at him, but he was still starting straight forward. Upon seeing the movement from his peripheral vision, though, he faced her.  
  
Just when they start to find themselves is when they fear they're lost.  
  
"Find what you were looking for?" she asked, not daring to smile. At least not before him.  
  
"Did you?" he asked enigmatically, cocking an eyebrow and lifting one corner of his mouth in a quasi-grin. She let out a breath she hadn't remembered taking and afforded a halting chuckle. She simply nodded, turning her attention momentarily back to the ocean. Apparently, that was it. "You're here," he stated, his voice the most unique, genuine blend of a terror and certainty and his intonation the prefect duality between question and comment. He was asking and stating; unsure and positive.  
  
"I am," she reiterated with a nod. She smiled widely, her teeth shining and her face beaming. She nodded a few more times for good measure and grabbed him by the arm, pulling herself closer to him. "I am," she whispered into his ear.  
  
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO  
  
You will know heartache, prayers that don't work, and times of bitter circumstances, but I still believe in second chances.  
Children of Eden, where have we left you?  
Born to uncertainty-- destined for pain. Sins of your parents haunt you and test you. This your inheritance-- fire and rain.  
Children of Eden, try not to blame us.  
We're just human, to error prone.  
Children of Eden, will you reclaim us?  
You and your children to someday come home.  
  
End Chapter 23. End Story. 


End file.
